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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738519">Prey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ostrichlittledungeon/pseuds/ostrichlittledungeon'>ostrichlittledungeon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pact - Wildbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Elsewhere Fic, Gen, Heavy Canon Divergence, Nonbinary Protagonist, Stand Alone, TW: Brief Mentions of Sexual Violence, Technically fanfiction but you don't need to read the original work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:15:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738519</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ostrichlittledungeon/pseuds/ostrichlittledungeon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie Riker finds themself in upstate New York for their great-grandmother's funeral. Things go south quickly, and Jamie learns that they've stumbled into a magical exclusion zone, a wasteland of shady and eccentric individuals. Someone has it out for Jamie's family, and they have a pretty good reason too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1.1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<h3>
  <span class="big">Awakening</span>
</h3><p> </p><p>
  <span class="big"> <span class="big"> <span class="big"><br/>
<strong><span class="big">1.1</span></strong><br/>
</span> </span> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Sitting in a rental in my great aunt’s driveway, surrounded by an unfamiliar landscape and unfamiliar cars, the thought that kept running through my mind was how totally unequipped I was to be here. It was a favor for my mom, who wouldn’t be able to make the drive up for another couple of days on account of some crisis at the workplace. My dad was there for emotional support, leaving me to serve as the middleman between her and her family, to attend the wake and apologize on her behalf.</p><p>Horrible. I hated the knot in my gut, the way I was slightly short of breath, hesitating to make my presence known. I wasn’t close to these people. The few genuine interactions I’d had with my great aunt had left me with more questions than answers, and with the impression of a hard, vindictive woman, quick to deny responsibility. Not the kind of person who would welcome someone like me into her home, if she had a better sense for who I was. My appearance… I was wearing a suit, a grey blazer over a white button down, but my hair and light makeup were likely to betray me. If it came down to it, I was prepared to pretend, but I honestly wasn’t very good at pretending.</p><p>I popped two Advil before pulling open the car door, preempting the tension headache I was sure would follow. A man’s face appeared in the window closest to the door for just a moment, disappearing as I stepped up to the front door and rang the doorbell. I felt a small measure of relief once I saw who it was.</p><p>“Jamie!” he exclaimed, pulling me into an awkward half-hug half-handshake that left me slightly winded. Uncle Mitch was a big guy, more beefy than he was tall, though he clocked in at a respectable 5 foot 11. He was actually the youngest among his siblings, but his hair was almost entirely gray, and had been for as long as I’d known him. He wore that cheeky, mischievous grin famous among Westbrooks, one I’d seen on my mother a million times. His suit was frumpy, and he looked more than a little uncomfortable wearing it. He was a graphic tee kind of guy, though you wouldn’t have known it looking at him now.</p><p>“I got your mom’s text. The drive was alright, I hope? Doubt many people are on their way to Wilna.”</p><p>“Not too bad," I said, stepping into the bathroom to wash my hands. “I managed. I stopped on the way up for lunch actually, maybe twenty miles down I-81. There was a pizza place.”</p><p>“You didn't have to do that. Cathy made lunch,” he said.</p><p>“That's why I stopped somewhere on the way up." That earned me a small chuckle. I dried off my hands and stepped back into the hallway.</p><p>“Ah, I missed ya, kid,” he said. “It’s been, what?”</p><p>“Two years,” I said, then paused to think. “Yeah, I think that’s right. Last time I saw you was Grandma’s 90th, which would have been in August.”</p><p>“Damn. Whoops, am I still not allowed to swear around you?”</p><p>“I think it’s okay,” I said with a smile.</p><p>“Oh, it’s Jamie!” came a voice from behind me. I turned to find my Aunt Matilda approaching, arms spread out to hug me. I let her, giving her a short hug in return. Her husband Peter appeared from around the corner, a glass of wine in his hand. He gave me a nod and a handshake. He was hawkish, glasses perched on an aquiline nose, with a mop of dark hair. He had a goatee, and it totally worked in a hot dad sort of way. They had an older son, but I suspected he wasn’t here. He and Aunt Cathy weren’t exactly on the best of terms. Their eldest wasn’t either.</p><p>“How are you doing? How is your mother?” Matilda asked, forehead creased in concern. She was a really lovely woman, herself a single mother of two with a one-time semi-successful career as an attorney, now an editor at a small publishing company she and Peter ran together.</p><p>“She’s doing well, all things considered,” I told her. “She’ll be here for the funeral.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I heard,” Matilda said. “I’m so happy to see you. You look good. I have so many questions for you, gosh. How’s school?”</p><p>“It’s going well,” I said. “I’m actually in grad school now, if you can believe it.”</p><p>“Oh wow,” she said, putting her palm against her forehead in some semblance of shock and surprise. “Has it really been that long?”</p><p>And then Great-Aunt Cathy appeared, and the mood immediately shifted. The moment I’d been dreading since I left Pennsylvania. It wasn't just me, either. Everyone else knew there was contention to be had here. I saw Tilda tense up and step back from me. Aunt Cathy looked me over, up and down, eyes lingering on my suit and my hair. It was hard to tell what she was thinking.</p><p>“James,” she said, after a second’s silence. Her face slowly wrinkled into a smile which crept its way up her face and into her eyes, making it look so <em> sincere. </em> I almost believed it. Almost. “It’s good that you’re here. Do you need a place to stay for the night?”</p><p>“Uhh, no, that’s alright,” I said, sounding as gracious as I could. “I couldn’t impose. Thank you, though. It’s very kind.”</p><p>“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting you stay here,” she said, laughing a little as she did. “There’s no room, unfortunately. But we can put you up for the night somewhere nearby, if you need.”</p><p>“No need,” I said. “We already have rooms booked.”</p><p>“Of course,” Aunt Cathy said. “Have you eaten? Come, come, there’s food in the kitchen. Let me give you a hug.”</p><p>She smelled like too-strong perfume, but there wasn’t a hint of tension or unkindness in the hug she gave me, which made me feel a little better. My guard wasn’t exactly lowered, but I was perhaps more willing to believe that she was okay with me being here, at least in terms of how I looked. Maybe. <em> Peter has tattoos, </em> I told myself.</p><p>“I already ate,” I told her as the hug let up. “But I’ll probably be hungry a bit later.”</p><p>She clucked her tongue at that. “You should know better than to show up with anything but an empty stomach.”</p><p>“Hey, Jamie,” Mitch said. I turned to look at him. He’d crossed the room to the doorway that led to the living room. He beckoned me over with one hand. “Come on, let’s go say hi to the kids.”</p><p>“Right,” I said. I turned to my aunt briefly before heading over. “It’s good to see you, Aunt Cathy.”</p><p>“We’re going to step outside,” Peter said from the entryway.</p><p>“Don’t stay out there too long,” Aunt Cathy said. “It’s cold out.”</p><p>“It’s <em>September,”</em> Peter said, shutting the door behind him.</p><p>Aunt Cathy’s son was in the living room, along with his three kids, the youngest of whom was eleven. She ran over to me as I entered.</p><p>“Hey Cassie,” I said. “Wow, you’ve really grown a lot since I last saw you.” I waved at the other two, who were sitting with their dad on a dark green couch on the far side of the room. “Hi Jay, Emma.”</p><p>The eldest, a 19 year old boy with long, noodly hair, gave me a wave of acknowledgment.</p><p>“You sound like an old woman,” Cassie said, making a face. “You <em> look </em> like an old woman. Grandma, I wish Mom was here,” Cassie said as Aunt Cathy appeared in the doorway behind Uncle Mitch.</p><p>“Yes, me too,” Cathy said, tousling the girl’s hair as she passed by. She headed for the kitchen.</p><p>“Wanna get back to our game, Pat?” Mitch asked, gesturing at a chess table in the center of the room.</p><p>“Oh, absolutely,” Cassie’s father said, standing from the couch. It became apparent that they’d been watching TV with the sound off when Jay reached for the remote to, presumably, change the channel.</p><p>“You in college now, Jay?” I asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. He was the only one not dressed for the occasion. He had a semi-formal flannel and jeans look going, which I kind of liked, but which definitely was out of place. He didn’t elaborate.</p><p>“Cool, that’s cool. You know, I’m in grad school. For math.”</p><p>“That sounds horrible,” Jay said. “Why would you do that to yourself?”</p><p>“It’s fun once you get past calculus.”</p><p>“James,” came a voice from the kitchen. I turned to look. “Good to see you.”</p><p>“Hey Grandpa,” Cassie called, running over to him and showing him something on her phone.</p><p>“Oh, that’s funny,” my great-uncle Roy said. “Did you make that?”</p><p>“I wish,” Cassie snorted.</p><p>“Hi Uncle Roy,” I said, shaking his hand. “Sorry we had to meet like this. You working on any new projects?”</p><p>“Well,” he said, rubbing his neck, “I’m about halfway done laying stones for the back patio, but my back’s been killing me lately.”</p><p>“Maybe I could help,” I offered.</p><p>He looked me up and down. “You don’t look like you’ve lifted anything heavier than a stack of books in years,” he replied. “I’ll have Patrick help me later this week, if he stays past the funeral.”</p><p>“Sure,” Patrick grunted, attention focused on the game in front of him.</p><p>Roy plopped down on the couch next to his granddaughter. “What are we watching? You can turn the volume up.”</p><p>“Not too many people here,” I observed.</p><p>“Yeah,” Uncle Mitch said. “Tilda’s kids couldn’t make it, and Leah just moved out to California.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said. “Good for her.” Feeling a little awkward standing there when everyone else was seated, I took a chair next to the couch and looked at the TV, more than a little distracted. It was that show about the guy who drove around the states, searching for valuable junk to flip.</p><p>I wasn't really paying attention. My eyes drifted around the room to look at the various family assembled family members. Patrick and Mitch were having a conversation between themselves now. Cassie and Emma were exchanging memes on their phones. Aunt Matilda came back inside, the air that wafted in smelling faintly of cigarettes. Peter set his now-empty glass on a table, and he and his wife headed upstairs. I sat there for a few minutes, grateful for the lack of conversation directed towards me.</p><p>“James!” a voice came from the kitchen. “A word?”</p><p>“Aunt Cathy?” I asked, as I stepped inside. She was wiping off some dishes, loading them into an old dishwasher. There were two bowls of potato salad on the counter and some other food on the table.</p><p>“Have a seat,” she said, indicating a chair at the table. I sat down. Several long seconds passed before she spoke. “My mother was a good woman. Very strong, very independent. She only started living with us when she turned 85, in fact.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be. She lived a good, long life.” She placed the last glass in the dishwasher, closing it and taking a seat next to me at the table. “She wasn’t perfect, however. For example, I don’t think she’d be very happy to see you like this.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Surprise gave way to discomfort.</p><p>“I want to apologize on her behalf. I also want you to know that we are supportive, and that you don’t need to feel uncomfortable around us.”</p><p>“That’s… kind,” I said. “Would it—would it be too much to ask that you call me Jamie? I don’t mean to—it just makes me feel a little weird.”</p><p>“Oh, you know how I feel about nicknames,” she said. “I’ve never called my son Pat. Just saying that makes <em> me </em> feel weird.”</p><p>“It’s not really a nickname,” I said, quickly. “I’ve had it changed.”</p><p>Clearly the wrong thing to say. Aunt Cathy bristled visibly, her brows drawing together. She folded her hands together tightly where they lay on the table.</p><p>“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” she said. “James was your great-grandfather’s name.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” I said again, though I meant it less this time.</p><p>“Don’t tell the kids about this. I don’t want them going around thinking they can change their names.”</p><p>“I’m sure that’s more up to their parents,” I said.</p><p>“I’m sure that’s none of your business,” Cathy replied, her voice hard. “Names have power, James. Maybe that’s not the case in my brother’s family, but it certainly is in mine. I don’t want you near those children.”</p><p>“What do you think I’m going to do, propagandize them?” I asked, angry. “You don’t want me talking to them at all?”</p><p>“Not a word,” she said. “There is more at stake here than you know.”</p><p>“You think I’m going to turn your grandkids queer. What, are you worried you’re going to die before Jay has kids?”</p><p>Mask off. Aunt Cathy stared daggers at me.</p><p>“That isn't what I mean. Don't start taking this the wrong way."</p><p>"What other way is there to take it?" I asked, shaking my head. "I don't know why I'm here. I shouldn't have come."</p><p>"I shouldn’t have invited you,” she said coolly.</p><p>“I <em>really </em>shouldn’t have come,” I reiterated. “I'm only here for my parents, you know. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't even have come near this place. I know why Tilda’s kids aren’t here. You don't fool me, you <em>hag</em>.”</p><p>“Is everything alright in here?” Uncle Mitch stood at the doorway. I must have raised my voice.</p><p>“Fine,” I said, eyeing Aunt Cathy as I stood, then strode out of the room. She returned the look with a facial expression I could only read as distaste. “I was just leaving.”</p><p>“Leaving?” Patrick asked in surprise, as I walked by him. He stood from the chess table, spreading his arms out in a confused shrug. “But you just got here.”</p><p>“I’ll be at the funeral,” I told him. “With my parents.” I shoved past Roy, who was coming around the corner, and out the front door.</p><p>“Jamie!” my uncle called out to me. He was standing on the front porch. I was already halfway down the driveway. “Wait up.” I stopped and turned around to face him.</p><p>“I thought Aunt Cathy would at least be civil. Turns out she’s too much of a miserable bigot to even pretend.”</p><p>“C’mon, Jamie. We aren’t here for her,” Mitch said. “You can just ignore her, you know.”</p><p>“She told me not to talk to Patrick’s kids because I changed my name? What the fuck am I supposed to do here, if not interact with the kids? Also, it’s her house.”</p><p>“It’s <em> Roy’s </em> house,” Mitch emphasized. “Why don’t we go for a drive, and come back once you’ve cooled down. We can talk about it.”</p><p>“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m going straight to the hotel. Then maybe I’ll wander around the city a bit. I don’t feel like being anywhere near here right now.”</p><p>“Okay,” he said. “You sure? Maybe we can grab dinner together.”</p><p>“Maybe. I’ll text you.”</p><p>“You have my number?”</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll see you, Uncle Mitch.” He nodded at that, then gave me a small wave. I took that as my cue to leave.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A knock at the door to my hotel room, stirring me from my half-lidded stupor. Goddammit, I'd been planning on going to sleep soon. Who could it possibly be at this hour? Uncle Mitch, maybe? Did he even know where I was staying?</p><p>“Hello?” I called out.</p><p>“Hey man, it’s Jay. Can I come in?”</p><p>“Jay?” I asked, suddenly alert. I got up from the desk, where’d I’d been sitting at my laptop, and shook my head a few times to clear away the exhaustion. “What the hell are you doing here? It's almost midnight.”</p><p>“Aunt Cathy told me to come talk to you.”</p><p>Something was wrong. My hand went to my back pocket and drew my knife, flipping it open as I stepped cautiously towards the door.</p><p>“Well Aunt Cathy told me <em> not </em> to talk to you.”</p><p>“Look, there’s no time to explain. Just let me in.” He sounded impatient.</p><p>“No way,” I told whomever was at the door. I didn’t know Jay’s voice well enough to be certain it was him. Who else would know about my family? Why was someone impersonating my cousin? Everything about this was just... wrong. The doorknob jiggled, and I jumped, the adrenaline waking me further.</p><p>“I’m only going to ask you one more time,” the person at the door said. “Please, Jamie.”</p><p>“Sorry,” I said. “No way.”</p><p>The door flew open, almost completely off its hinges. I stumbled back a few steps. The boy who stepped into the room was definitely not Jay. He didn't even look <em>human</em>. His eyes were an unnaturally vibrant shade of blue, standing in stark contrast to his dark skin and curly black hair. His teeth were bared in a clumsy approximation of a smile, too sharp and too white in the fluorescent gleam of the light from the hallway. They were details I might not have noticed if I’d seen him in a crowd, but they were hard to miss when he was staring me down with a knife in his hand. He was holding a kitchen knife, much longer and wider than the one I kept on my person for self defense, which was a small affair. He walked towards me slowly, knees locked so that he jittered back and forth with each step. </p><p>I looked around me for something to use, and my eyes fell on the Bible that was sitting on the desk. It wasn’t very big, and it was printed with small text on paper so thin you could see through it, but it was better than nothing. No way I was sacrificing my laptop, the next closest item I had at my disposal. I grabbed the book with my free hand and whipped it at the hand holding the knife, hard as I could.</p><p>The book spread open as it flew, and the knife sliced right through the spine with barely any resistance. </p><p>“Fuck."</p><p>“A bible, Jamie? Really?” he asked, sing-song. His voice still sounded eerily like Jay’s, almost like he was doing an impression. The difference was that Jay had only ever known me as James.</p><p>I had been forced to retreat to the window, not-Jay’s movements pushing me further and further back. Desperate, I dropped my knife and grabbed at the only thing left, the desk lamp, pulling it from its socket and holding it out in front of me with both hands, ducking just in time to block the thing's blow. The knife hit the lamp hard, bouncing off, and clattered to the ground next to me. I picked it up before he could, surprising myself with my own freakish reaction time. Lamp in one hand and kitchen knife in the other, I waggled both at him wildly, causing him to back up a few steps. I set the lamp back down on the desk and approached, knife held out in both hands, shaking.</p><p>He was still smiling, but no longer grinning as widely as he had been. I took that as a good sign, gauging the distance across the bed in a few frantic eye movements. Then I clambered over it as carefully as I could, turning so that I had him pinned against a wall. A good first step. I took in a deep breath and tried to calm down enough to stop shaking.</p><p>“Who are you?” I eventually asked, jabbing the knife towards him. His hands went up slowly, as if he was wholly unconcerned. Almost like he knew I wouldn't be able to hurt him if it came down to it. I inched closer, turning the knife in my hand and pressing the point of the blade very gently against his neck. The smile didn’t leave his face.</p><p>“You could say that I’m a debt collector,” he said coyly, then just continued to stand there, awaiting a response. Back against the wall, a knife in his face, completely unafraid.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you with the funeral home?” I kept my voice as steady as I could, trying to sound menacing. I doubted I was doing a very good job. My legs felt like they were going to give out from under me. I cursed myself for not texting my uncle when I’d had the chance.</p><p>“I’m with everybody else,” he said. “Your great-grandmother failed to pay off the debt she accrued. We’ll take what we can get.”</p><p>Entirely without warning, the window shattered, and with it my attention. It was louder than I’d been led to believe by the movies, more like a pile of dishes collapsing to the ground than a single sharp, piercing noise. Glass flew across the room, and a single shard of shrapnel embedded itself in the side of my leg. I collapsed in pain, dropping the knife. My thoughts went to gibberish. Thankfully, it seemed that the sudden event had also scared the boy. He slid out from against the wall, picked up the knife, and sprinted from the room, no interest in finding out what had caused the window to break.</p><p>Once I’d recovered enough to reorder my thoughts, I looked up to see if there was a rock somewhere. Nothing that I could see. Couldn’t have been a manual break; the room was on the third floor. I tried to stand and felt a barb of pain shoot through my leg.</p><p>“Ffuck,” I said, sitting back down hard. I tried to tear off part of my shirt to use as a makeshift bandage, like they did in the movies, but I couldn't seem to manage it. Instead, I hastily unbuttoned it and shrugged it off, shifting so that I could inspect the wound. I carefully gripped the small piece of glass in my leg and tugged, sliding it out, which wasn’t nearly as painful as I’d expected it to be. It hadn’t gone very deep, now that I looked at it. I looped the shirt around my leg and pulled the arms around tightly, tying them together in a double-knot.</p><p>It didn’t hurt any less when I stood, but I managed to make my way over to the window, picking my way around the glass as best I could. There was a girl standing outside in the hotel parking lot, just below the window. She was hard to make out in the dark, but I could tell she was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. She looked completely ordinary. She was staring up at the window, at me, as I appeared in the frame.</p><p>“You Jamie Riker?” she asked. Her voice was quiet, but clear.</p><p>“Yeah,” I yelled down. I didn’t really care who heard at this point. “You know me? Did you follow that guy here?”</p><p>“Shut up and take the stairs,” she said. “We need to get you out of here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not a fan of author's notes but I am going to say this: the first chapter (1.1 through Interlude 1) is kind of poorly written and paced, as this is my first serious work. I'll come back and edit heavily at some point, but for now try sticking it out a little! It gets more interesting and better written in general in chapter 2 :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 1.2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I didn’t have to be told twice. I closed my laptop and stashed it in my backpack, then I grabbed my knife, pulled on a t-shirt, and limped my way into the hallway and towards the staircase. I had to make my way down slowly, good leg in front so that I didn’t put too much pressure on the gash in my other leg. It didn't hurt too badly, but I didn't want to take any chances, especially with the weight of the backpack. I hobbled through the back door and into the parking lot, where I spotted the girl I’d seen from the window. She was standing at the driver’s seat of a dark blue Honda Civic, an old model, clearly waiting for me to get into the passenger seat.</p><p>“You broke that window?” I asked, approaching the car. I gestured at my hiked up pant leg, where the “bandage” was visible.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t have time to do much else.”</p><p>“I had him at knifepoint,” I told her, “except you distracted me. That could have cost me my life.”</p><p>“You were never a threat. Guys like him like to fuck with their prey, granting temporary advantages so that when they do eventually win, the defeat is more crushing,” she said. "It's a tactic. Did he seem scared at all to you?" It was still pretty dark out, but I was able to make her out better now that I was closer. She was wearing a strange necklace, a single pitch black bead about an inch in diameter hanging from a silver chain. Her hair was short, blonde, tied back in a messy bun held in place with a fuzzy pink scrunchie. She looked impatient.</p><p>"No," I admitted.</p><p>“We can talk while we drive,” she said, opening the car door. She didn’t get in.</p><p>“I’m not getting in a car with you until I know who you are and why you’re here.”</p><p>“Look,” she said, clearly annoyed, “there was just an attempt on your life, and it won’t be the last. You need to get out of here, and I don’t think you want to go it alone.”</p><p>“Or I could just call the police,” I countered. “On the kid with the knife, on you. Someone must have heard the window shatter, I bet they’re already on the way.” </p><p>“Nobody heard the window shatter,” she said, “and the police are going to be next to useless, I promise you. Maybe it’s difficult for you to grasp this concept, but I’m kind of in the process of <em> saving your life </em> right now. We don’t have time—”</p><p>She trailed off as movement in another part of the parking lot caused us both to turn our heads and look. A black sedan with no license plate had just rounded the corner, and was slowly rolling across the pavement in our direction.</p><p>“Shit,” the girl said. “We have to go, <em> now.” </em> She climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the car on. I, for my part, jogged around to the other side and opened the door, pausing.</p><p>“I want to believe you,” I said, eyeing the sedan nervously. It was driving slowly, slower than anyone had any reason to be going, especially with nobody else around. I couldn’t make out the driver in the darkness.</p><p>“Look, I'm Luna. You're Jamie. There, introduction's out of the way. Now get in the car!”</p><p>"Um. I don't— How do you—"</p><p>Luna slammed her hand against the wheel in frustration. "Get in the goddamn car. You idiot!"</p><p>"Okay, okay," I said, climbing inside.</p><p>Before I could say or do anything, she put the car in reverse and slammed her foot on the gas, the wheels screaming as they shot backwards. I was thrown forward against the dash, clutching my backpack like an airbag. The clothes inside cushioned my fall. Then she shifted to drive, and we were off, flying down the highway twenty miles above the speed limit. Once I had recovered, I tossed my backpack into the backseat and strapped in.</p><p>Then I looked back. There was the black sedan, unmistakable, matching our pace almost exactly. It was a good distance away, but it nevertheless was there, cutting an ominous figure in the gloom. There were few other cars on the highway at this time of night. We passed a couple of large trucks, headed south like we were. Maybe they were coming from Canada. There were only two lanes, so there was some ducking and weaving to be had before we were clear of them.</p><p>“Sorry I called you an idiot,” she said, eventually.</p><p>“It’s… fine, whatever. Can you please do your best to explain what’s going on?” I asked, still a little shaken by the speed at which we’d taken off, not to mention the recent encounter I’d had with a knife-wielding teenager.</p><p>“The less you know, the better,” she said. “You’re a pretty major mark as is, but knowledge would alter your status as an innocent. It would make you complicit.”</p><p>“That’s awfully convenient,” I said, mildly embittered by her non-response. “Can you at least tell me what your name is?”</p><p>“It’s Luna, and before you ask, they have ways of gauging how knowledgeable you are.”</p><p>She was actually pretty cute, now that I could see her face well. For all I knew, this could still be an elaborate abduction (though there would be no reason for the theatrics if all they wanted was ransom money or something), but the fact that my abductress was a pretty girl about my age did a lot to dissuade the notion.</p><p>“Okay,” I said, taking that in. “What else can you tell me?”</p><p>“Your relative who just passed? Your great-grandma Westbrook, God rest her hideous wrinkled visage? She did something really bad when she was younger, <em> cosmically </em> bad, a figurative deal with the devil, and as long as there was reason to believe she would make reparations, people left her alone, for the most part. But now she’s dead and her daughter has made it clear that the family has no plans to pay anyone back for the damages.”</p><p>“Why not go after her then? What do I have to do with it?”</p><p>Luna glanced over at me, looking me up and down, before turning back to the road.</p><p>“Easy target,” she said. “Catherine is protected, as is everyone in her care. That’s partially a result of the deal your grandmother made.”</p><p>“What about my uncle and aunt?” I asked, suddenly panicked. I pulled out my phone. No texts, no service.</p><p>“No idea,” she admitted. “If they’re staying over at her house, they’re probably okay.” I relaxed a bit, remembering how Aunt Matilda and Peter had gone upstairs. Uncle Mitch, though…</p><p>I took a second to send a text. <em> Sorry about dinner, </em> I typed. <em> Hope you’re doing okay. Text me back? </em> Just had to hope it went through. I put my phone away.</p><p>“The kid who attacked me called himself a debt collector,” I said, trying to connect the dots in my head. “Am I supposed to understand that my death would somehow be recompense?”</p><p>“Yes,” Luna said, slowly. “I can’t tell you how or why, but yes it would.” Frustrating.<br/>
Aunt Cathy’s words rang in my head. <em>I shouldn’t have invited you.</em></p><p>“This was a setup, then,” I said, clenching my fist. “I was brought out here to take the fall, make it a little bit easier on <em> them, </em> at my expense. The only thing I don’t understand is… how any of this works. What could my great-grandmother possibly have done that was so bad that there are literal hitmen after random members of her family? Are the police in on this? Are they protecting Aunt Cathy?”</p><p>“Hang on,” Luna said, a note of alarm in her voice. I swiveled my head, looking around and behind me. There was nobody on the road anymore, which… that wasn’t right. Where was the black sedan that had been following us?</p><p>“The other car.”</p><p>“No way we lost them,” she said. “You distracted me. <em> Shit. </em>I didn’t see where they went.”</p><p>And then we passed an exit and there it was, the same black car, merging into the lane behind us.</p><p>“Shitshitshit,” Luna said, flooring it. So did the sedan, managing to stay behind us at a constant distance of about thirty yards. No, actually it was gaining on us. Eerie, how accurately it matched our speed, plus a little bit. “When’s the next exit?”</p><p>“Uhhh,” I said, looking around. There were no street lamps on this section of highway. I suspected that was part of the reason there were so few cars driving this at night. “Oh! Half a mile.”</p><p>The sign sped past as Luna pressed harder on the gas. “Okay,” she said. “You might want to hold onto something.”</p><p>I barely had time to register her words before she swerved hard to the right, down an exit I hadn’t seen. I was thrown against the divider, hands clutching at nothing. My head was pillowed by her arm, and she slammed the brakes, slowing down to something that made the off ramp manageable. I straightened up, breathing hard.</p><p>“You have got to stop doing that,” I said, as she ran the stop sign at the intersection and sped down a dark backroad, farmlands on either side.</p><p>“Lost them for now, hopefully,” she said, “but we should probably get onto the highway again if we’re going to make any real progress. You have a GPS on your phone? Maybe we can take Route 3.”</p><p>I fumbled for my phone and pulled up a map. There was service here—not much, but enough. </p><p>“We’re ten minutes away,” I told her.</p><p>“Perfect,” she said.</p><p>I checked to see if the message to my uncle had gone through. It had. No response. We drove in silence for a couple of minutes.</p><p>“Left up here,” I said, as we drove up to a small intersection. Luna started to make the turn, then came to a stop.</p><p>“No,” she said. I squinted out the window and spotted it, the black sedan. It had pulled off the road just before the intersection, and was just sitting there.</p><p>“I guess we’re going right,” I said. “How the hell did they get here so fast?”</p><p>“I think that’s a different car,” Luna said, making a right and speeding up a little. The car didn’t move as we left. It sat there, silent. There was no indication that anyone was even inside of it, but it was definitely the same model of car, and again it had no license plate.</p><p>“We can turn up here instead,” I said, as we very quickly came to another intersection. “Oh fuck.”</p><p>There was another car there, exactly the same, again not moving.</p><p>“I think they’re penning us in,” Luna said. She turned right again, and suddenly we were headed back towards the interstate.</p><p>The on-ramp onto I-81 southbound was similarly unavailable to us, but the northbound on-ramp…</p><p>“We’re getting too far away,” Luna said. “I think they want us to go back north.”</p><p>“Are we going to go back north?” I asked.</p><p>“Might be our only option,” she said, turning onto the interstate. We were back up to speed now, which made me feel a little better after the claustrophobic backroads full of black sedans. “Change of plans, I guess. We can go back to my place for now, if they don’t cut us off again.”</p><p>“Your place?”</p><p>“I live with my brother a few miles away from your family,” she said. “Same town, different hamlet. You can stay the night and leave tomorrow, when there are more cars on the road.”</p><p>“What am I going to tell my parents?” I asked her. “They’re coming up for the funeral the day after tomorrow. Won’t they be targeted too?”</p><p>“You’ll have to come up with an excuse. I don’t know your parents, I don’t know what’ll work. Keep them away, and keep them safe.”</p><p>“Is it really safe to go back? What if they just, you know, follow me home?”</p><p>“There’s a reason they’re sending us back north,” Luna said. “They can’t get too far from their base of operations.”</p><p>“Which is where?”</p><p>“Carthage.”</p><p>“No shit,” I said. “Are they actually from the funeral home?”</p><p>“There’s more in Carthage than just a funeral home.”</p><p>“Okay. Hitman agency?”</p><p>“Not exactly. I’m not giving you more details. No more questions, for your own good.”</p><p>“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms over my seatbelt. “You said you live with your brother? Maybe I can get something out of him.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>We arrived at the house with a suspicious lack of incidence. Once or twice, we’d passed a car and I thought for a moment that it was another unmarked black sedan, but nope. We didn’t see a single one on the drive back north. It made me uneasy.</p><p>Luna’s house was small, a one-story affair with maybe an attic. No garage. It was fairly isolated, no other buildings visible from the road. Only forest, as far as I could see, in every direction.</p><p>There was another car in the driveway. It was an old station wagon, the kind with a flat hood and faux wood paneling.</p><p>“Looks like Margot is here,” Luna said, frowning, as we pulled to a stop. “That usually doesn’t bode well.”</p><p>“Margot?”</p><p>“She lives down the road, in the village center. That’s her car.”</p><p>We exited the vehicle and I followed Luna up the front steps and into the house. The room we entered was a living room, equipped with a single dingy couch, coffee table, and a television set from the 80s. A doorway led into a tiny dining room and another to what looked like a bedroom.</p><p>“Sam?” Luna called out. There was no response. The house was quiet. “They must be downstairs,” she said. “Hang out here, I’ll be right back.” She pulled open what I’d assumed to be a closet door and descended the staircase. Unsure of what to do with myself, I took a seat on the couch and listened to her walking around beneath where I sat. A little boy, maybe eight years old, with long dark hair and blue eyes, suddenly appeared from the dining room. Both hands were filled with chocolate chip cookies, maybe a dozen in total. He froze when he saw me. I gave him a smile and a little wave.</p><p>“Don’t tell my mom about the cookies,” he said, sounding a little nervous.</p><p>“Your mom?”</p><p>He nodded, then scarfed down a cookie, talking as he chewed. “She’s downstairs in the library with Mister Sam.”</p><p>“I won’t tell her,” I promised. I looked around for the remote. “You wanna watch something?”</p><p>“Miss Luna says that the TV’s just for the…” He paused to search for the word. “Sounds like ‘athletic’?”</p><p>“Aesthetic?” I got a vigorous nod in response. I sighed. “That figures.”</p><p>There were noises from down below. I could hear some muffled voices.</p><p>“...thought Cathy was an only child.” A woman’s voice, not Luna. That would be Margot, then. “Figures.” She was shushed, a loud, sharp noise.</p><p>The boy ran away, back into the kitchen. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.</p><p><em> All good, </em> Mitch replied. <em> Why do you ask? Everything okay on your end? </em></p><p>The door to the basement opened and out came three very different looking people. There was Luna, of course, but also a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, dark skin and black, curly hair, and a sallow older woman, severe in appearance, who looked quite a lot like the little boy. I stood to greet them as they entered the space.</p><p>“Hello,” I said. I offered my left hand, which the woman shook, followed closely by the man a few seconds later. I noticed that the woman was wearing an expensive-looking watch. There was a book tucked under her other arm. “I’m Jamie Riker. I guess you’re all familiar with my great-aunt Cathy.”</p><p>“Sam Legere,” the man said. He cocked his head in the direction of his sister. “I’m Luna’s brother.”</p><p>“Margot Behaim,” said the woman, simply. Then she added: “this is my son Artemis.” I followed the line of her outstretched hand, and saw that the boy had emerged from the dining room once again. This time there were no cookies to be seen anywhere on his person, but there was a noticeable smear of chocolate over his upper lip. “We were just leaving.”</p><p>“Aw,” said the boy.</p><p>“Ah,” Sam said. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Quite,” she said, her tone sharp. “I will fulfill the terms of our agreement and return your book before the moon is next full, but rest assured, Mister Legere, that I will not be returning for a second perusal of your… I hesitate to call it a library.”</p><p>“There’s no need to be rude,” Sam said. I couldn’t read his expression. “I already told you, most of our books are on loan from the professor. You’ll have better luck there.”</p><p>“I am loath to give thought to the option and offended by the suggestion that I might,” she said, taking hold of her son’s hand and opening the door. “Good night, Legeres, Riker.” And she was gone. A few moments later, the sound of a car engine coming to life was audible. It was loud and sputtery, likely on account of the age of the car.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” Sam said, once the sound had vanished into the distance. “She used to be pretty okay but then her cousin was murdered and the rest of her family up north got fucked up pretty bad by a group of d—”</p><p>“Hey,” Luna cut in, interrupting him. “Let’s keep this need-to-know. Jamie’s staying the night, nothing more.”</p><p>“Right,” Sam said sheepishly. “Gotcha.”</p><p>“How about deserve-to-know instead?” I suggested. “I’ve spent the last several hours being attacked and then chased by unmarked vehicles. I really ought to know at least some of what’s going on here.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Sam said again, sounding genuinely apologetic, “but Luna’s right. You need to leave—”</p><p>“I’m not an idiot,” I said, angry. I tried to keep the emotion out of my voice. “Even if I can convince my parents not to make the trip, which I don’t know that I’m capable of, by the way, the rest of my family is still in danger. And if anyone else gets injured or dies, there’s not an excuse in the world that my parents will listen to.”</p><p>“Jamie,” Luna said, “if you don’t—”</p><p>“Shut up,” I offered. “These guys are obviously capable. I don’t know why Aunt Cathy’s house is off limits to them, but I doubt that any of us are very safe here. I’m exhausted, but I won’t be able to sleep if I’m constantly on guard for creepy little boys in black sedans. I’m also wounded…” Here I gestured at my leg. “...not severely enough to matter, but enough to hurt. And I’m not just going to leave if that means that their target shifts to someone else I care about. I’m tired, I’m hurt, I’m pissed, and I need to know what the goddamn fuck is going on if I’m going to plan my next moves. So just… I don’t care if I’m ‘not innocent’ anymore or whatever. You need to talk to me, because I need your help. For all I know, if they’re willing to go after me in a hotel room, they’ve already made plans to massacre my family at the funeral.”</p><p>I was out of things to say, complaints to make. Just as well, because I was pretty satisfied with how cogent that had ended up being, and I wasn’t sure I would’ve been able to keep it up otherwise. I really <em> was </em> tired. My voice had started wavering towards the end, but I had steeled myself and finished strong, glaring hard at the brother-sister pair who had only extended me help and hospitality thus far. It wasn’t fair, I knew, but I wasn’t willing to take no for an answer anymore.</p><p>Neither of them seemed to know what to say to that. Luna looked uncomfortable, and Sam, whom I couldn’t seem to get a good read on, had his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Just so that we’re totally clear,” Sam said, after a pause, “if we tell you what’s going on, nothing will ever be the same again.”</p><p>“I figured as much,” I said.</p><p>“I mean it,” he said.</p><p>“It would make some things I said retroactively false,” Luna told Sam. He shook his head at that.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter, as long as you meant it at the time. The rules are different here.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” I said. “Is somebody listening to us?”</p><p>“No,” Sam said. “Actually, <em> nobody </em> is listening to us. That’s kind of the problem.”</p><p>“I… really don’t understand.”</p><p>“Ghosts are real, Jamie,” Luna said. “People die and their soul, their essence, whatever, remains in the form of a spirit. That’s how it normally goes, except that there aren’t any here because your great-grandmother condemned every single one within a twelve mile radius, past and future, to an eternity in hell.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 1.3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I stared at her, dumbfounded. How could this person who appeared to be, by all other metrics, completely normal, seriously believe something so...</p><p>“If you want to know more, you’re going to have to commit to becoming a practitioner,” Luna continued. “You’ll be able to see things as they really are, and you’ll also be able to perform magic.”</p><p>“You’re insane,” I told her. “If I wasn’t in such deep shit, I’d be out that door.”</p><p><em> "I’m </em> insane? You ever seen a cat do this?” she asked.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Ezrul!” she shouted, down into the open door that led down to the basement. About a minute passed, and just as I was about to say something, a very quiet thud sounded, then another, first at the bottom of the stairs, then closer and closer. A small black cat appeared, a rope in its mouth. As it walked forward, it tugged hard on the rope, and a thin black book with a blank cover, the other end of the rope tied around its middle, landed on the floor, thudding gently. The cat dropped the rope and looked up expectantly at Luna.</p><p>“Meow.”</p><p>Luna bent down to pick up the book, scritching the cat behind the ear as she did so.</p><p>“Sorry,” she told the cat. “Hope that wasn’t too difficult.”</p><p>“Mrrow.”</p><p>“‘Awakening Rituals,” she said, reading the spine. She slipped the rope off and tossed it to the cat, who backed up and caught it in its mouth, then turned and ran back down the stairs. She turned the book around so that I could confirm. “See?”</p><p><em> Awakening Rituals, a Differential Analysis, </em> it read. <em> Everett Burke. </em></p><p>“You set that up beforehand somehow,” I said, a little unsure of myself. “After you shushed Margot.”</p><p>“Pretty well-trained cat,” Sam commented.</p><p>“I didn’t,” Luna said, seriously. “There wasn’t time to, anyway.”</p><p>“Okay…” I said, slowly, trying to regain some mental footing. “What kind of ritual is this?”</p><p>“You sit in a circle,” Luna said, flipping open the book to find a page that was dog-eared. “You say some things, we say some things, and then you make an offering. Some blood maybe, or an object that’s important to you. It’s the fastest, most efficient way to do this without any spirits around to hear. There’s a couple of other methods we could try, but…”</p><p>“That sounds harmless enough,” I said. “I’m… I suppose I’m willing to entertain the idea that this might somehow work. If it doesn’t…”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “It should work just fine. Here.” He disappeared into the bedroom, only to reappear a few seconds later with two sticks of white chalk. “You got an item handy?”</p><p>I pulled out my knife and showed it to him.</p><p>“Gotcha,” he said, then he tossed the other stick of chalk to Luna. “You should know that you can temporary forfeit a portion of your power by lying. It’s not a super big deal around here, but you should be careful anyway.”</p><p>“Are half truths okay? Speaking in metaphor?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “As long as you aren’t knowingly saying something which is false.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>Luna knelt down, pressing the book flat against the ground, and started copying the diagram visible on one of the pages. Sam was quick to help draw the other half. It took maybe a minute between them to finish drawing it. There were two concentric circles with words in Latin scrawled within them, and five circles spaced evenly around the outside. I didn’t recognize most of the words, but I did see <em> identitas </em> and <em> gravitas </em>, written directly across the circle from each other.</p><p>“Take off your pants and shirt,” Luna said. “Underwear is okay. That shirt around your leg has to come off too.”</p><p>I pulled the shirt around my leg off first, looking at the wound. It didn’t look too bad, actually. It would probably be alright if I disinfected it and covered it up with an actual bandage. It wasn’t bleeding too badly either. I pulled my pants off, awkwardly straightening out my boxers, and then pulled my shirt off too, revealing the black sports bra I was wearing underneath. I took a seat inside the circle, one hand over my boxers to protect my modesty, and Luna handed the book to me.</p><p>“Um. By this circle,” I tried, finding the clear “READ” directive on the page facing the diagram, “I identify myself as Jamie Sterling Riker, and affirm my identity with the infinite.” I looked up at Luna and Sam, who were standing by the table, expressions impassive. “What does that mean?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Luna told me. “And don’t worry about the specific wording, either. You can fudge some of it.” I nodded.</p><p>“I affirm that I am of sound mind, sound… <em> reasonably </em> sound body, and that I willingly enter into this compact with the understanding that I will no longer be capable of falsehood or direct treachery.” I paused. “Nothing’s happening.”</p><p>“Keep reading,” Luna urged me. I took a breath.</p><p>“I offer myself, wholly and bodily, unto the judgement of those… o-of those beings which came before time…” The room seemed to grow darker at that. I would have thought it was just my imagination, but Luna and Sam looked around at that as well. “...a-and armed with Vision and Knowledge, I willingly bear the alterations to my fate.</p><p>“I ask that I be granted these gifts, firstly that of Vision. I ask for Vision so that I may perceive that which has been hidden from humanity: the bonds which connect us, and the parahuman entities arcane and mundane both.</p><p>“I ask that I be granted these gifts, secondly that of Knowledge. I ask for Knowledge so that I may understand that which has been hidden from humanity: the bonds which connect us, and the parahuman entities arcane and mundane both.” Something prickled at the back of my eyes. I rubbed them, and opened them back up to find that the room had gone completely dark. I could vaguely make out the shapes of the others in the room with me. Neither of them seemed to have moved.</p><p>I turned the page and saw that the next part was intended to be read by an ‘executor’. I passed the book up to Luna.</p><p>“What, uh… how do you want me to refer to you? Sorry, I can’t tell.”</p><p>“Like… what pronouns? They, them.”</p><p>“Umm, okay. I can do that, makes sense. I relinquish some of my own power,” Luna began, which I startled at.</p><p>“It isn’t permanent,” she explained. “It’s just to get you started.</p><p>“I relinquish some of my power, and place it within this circle,” (here she bent down and cupped her hands over one of the five circles along the outside) “to leave as an offering.” She stood, and the room got even darker. I couldn’t see past the edge of the circle anymore, even as the circle itself stood out in stark contrast to the darkness, a bright fluorescent white.</p><p>I watched in amazement as the small circle Luna had singled out began to glow, filling up with white chalk as if it were a liquid. It took me almost a full minute to realize that Luna was still reading.</p><p>“...verify that I have witnessed this compact, that it is legitimate…” I lost track of her words again as the outer circle began to rotate slowly, taking the five smaller adjunct circles along with it. Different portions of the circle began to gain color, separating themselves out into a faint rainbow. The colors faded in, increasing in saturation until they became impossible to ignore. As I watched, the outer circles crossed <em> under </em> the concentric circles and into the interior, until they were rotating around where I was sitting, cross-legged.</p><p>“...ask that you grant this practitioner the gift of Vision, so that sh<em>—they</em> may perceive that which has been hidden…” As Luna spoke, a glowing purple butterfly briefly crossed my field of vision, leaving a trail of glowing purple dust in its wake. The dust slowly rained down onto the circle and speckled the interior, which was still rotating. Eventually, the five circles began to slow, and a star connecting their centers appeared, brighter than the rest of the circle. The lines were bolder than the chalk lines, and yet somehow more ethereal. The circles came to rest with the filled-in one in front of me. “...arcane and mundane both,” Luna finished.</p><p>“Now you have to give blood or...” Luna started. I held my right hand out over the circle, fist clenched, and used my knife to slice a gash into the back of it.</p><p>“Jeeesus,” Sam said.</p><p>I grunted in pain, but angled my hand so that some of the blood dripped onto the chalk. It sizzled and disappeared where it touched the ground. Once the circle had taken its fill, turning completely red, the blood began to pool on the ground at my feet.</p><p>“Didn’t think that one through,” I said, watching as the words and concentric circles turned a brilliant red.</p><p>“You definitely did not,” came the disembodied voice of Sam, from somewhere in front and to the right of me. “Catch.” I held out my good hand and caught the piece of brown cloth that was thrown my way. I tied it tightly around my hand.</p><p>“With these final words,” Luna intoned loudly, “I bind you, in body and in spirit, to this compact. Jamie Riker, you may rise.”</p><p>I did, a little unsteady, still not too comfortable with how my underpants fell over my privates. The lights returned to the room as I stood, the darkness fading. Sam was sitting on the coffee table, arms crossed. I looked down and saw that the chalk circle had gone back to how it had been drawn. Only the pool of blood confirmed that something had indeed happened.</p><p>“There’s… no way you could have faked that,” I said, breathless. Luna smiled. “Unless… I didn’t eat or drink anything. Gas? No, that’s implausible. Fuck me, I think I believe you.”</p><p>“Hello,” came a deep voice from behind me. I startled, spinning around, and I found myself looking at the black cat from before. He licked at the back of his paw and rubbed it against his face. “I’m Ezrul. Nice to meet you.” His mouth moved in an approximation of the words. </p><p>“H-hi,” I stammered. “I didn’t realize cats could talk.”</p><p>“They don’t,” he said in an amused tone. “I’m Luna’s familiar. Sam’s too, after a fashion, though I’m not bound to him. Only in the sense that they share the demesne.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” I managed. “Domain?”</p><p>“<em>Demesne,” </em> Luna supplied. “It’s French, spelled funny. There are certain base protections afforded to you once you claim one.”</p><p>“Sure,” I said. “Do you think I could get my clothes back?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Once I was clothed and had accepted a glass of water from Sam, I lay down on the couch, collapsing under the weight of the day’s events. I let my eyelids flutter shut.</p><p>“Let me take a look at those injuries,” Sam said. “Leg one first.”</p><p>“Sure,” I said, opening my eyes just enough to watch as he drew a short, sharp looking stick from his waistband. “Woah, woah, what’s that?”</p><p>“Chill,” Sam said. “It’s my implement.”</p><p>“I don’t know what that means,” I told him.</p><p>“It’s a magic wand,” he said, flatly.</p><p>“You’re going to heal me with magic?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, that was the plan.”</p><p>“Disinfect it first, at least,” I said, my head collapsing back against the arm of the couch again.</p><p>“This’ll do that too,” he said, then rolled up my pant leg enough so that the little cut was visible. “Looks like there’s a bit of glass still in there.”</p><p>I groaned. “No wonder it hurts like a bitch.”</p><p>“Careful with hyperbole,” Sam warned me.</p><p>I watched as he waved his wand… no, drew in the air with his wand, and three tiny fragments of glass floated up in front of him. Each one hurt just a little as it dislodged, but left me feeling less pain overall. Another complex motion of the wand and… nothing.</p><p>“Mm,” Sam said. “I’m out of practice.” He tried again and this time, the pain went away altogether. I sat up just enough to see the wound close seemingly on its own. There was a small scar left in its place. “Hand,” he said.</p><p>I held my hand out and he undid the bandage, which by now was soaked in blood. It looked pretty nasty. Sections of it had closed up, but other bits were still bleeding. Sam made the same motion, and the gash began to close up, then stopped about halfway when he lost his concentration.</p><p>“This is taking a lot out of me,” he said. “It’s a good thing I’m going to bed soon.”</p><p>He made the motion again, and this time the gash closed all of the way. I was left with a pretty vicious looking scar running across the back of my hand. I stared at my hand in amazement. Not bad.</p><p>“Thanks,” I said.</p><p>“No problem,” he replied, getting up from where he’d been kneeling. He stumbled a little, grabbing the other arm of the couch to steady himself. “Whew. I’m going straight to sleep, I think.”</p><p>Luna came out of the bedroom, wearing a plain black t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. I sat up, feeling a little better now that I wasn’t hurting. Ezrul padded out after Luna and came over, hopping up on the couch next to me. He looked for all the world exactly like a normal cat.</p><p>“Goodnight,” she said to Sam.</p><p>“Night,” he said, turning the corner and out of sight.</p><p>“Hey,” I said. “Any chance I could have something to eat?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Luna said. “I was just going to ask if you wanted anything.”</p><p>“Something small,” I told her. “Anything, really. I’m really tired. You mind if I crash on your couch?”</p><p>“It’s what it’s there for,” she said, disappearing into the dining room.</p><p>“So,” Ezrul said, startling me again. I jumped a little.</p><p>“Sorry,” I said. “It’s going to take me a bit to get used to the fact that you talk.”</p><p>“No need to apologize,” he said, amicably. “You mind if I sit on your lap?”</p><p>“That’s a little weird to me,” I said. “But you are cute. Can I pet you?”</p><p>He walked over to me and lifted his head, which I put my hand on, and I gave him some pets. He purred contentedly, which came out as a surprisingly deep rumbling noise. It took me a second to realize that he was actually purring and making the rumbling noise at the same time. A bit disturbing, given that he only had one set of vocal cords—at least, I assumed so—but I took it in stride.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet someone who isn’t rude or weird,” he said, the rumbling letting up as he spoke. The purring continued. “This town is full of some strange people.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” I asked.</p><p>“At least, among the people I’ve met,” he clarified. “Margot Behaim is pretty friendly, relatively speaking.”</p><p>“Is she a… magic user?” I asked.</p><p>“A practitioner, yes, and her son’s started stinking of magic too recently. I’d imagine they both are.”</p><p>“What does magic smell like?”</p><p>Ezrul pushed past me, behind where I was sitting on the couch. He rubbed his head against my back as he passed.</p><p>“It doesn’t,” he said. “It’s just a sense that I get when I focus on it. Kind of an arcana check, if you will.”</p><p>That surprised me a little. I wasn’t big on tabletop roleplaying, but I’d had friends in high school who’d staged massive campaigns, and I knew enough to understand what that meant. I couldn’t imagine why a magic talking cat would know anything about that, but I wasn’t sure how to word the question. I didn’t want to pry too heavily anyway.</p><p>Luna returned with a small plate consisting of a few cookies and two buttered slices of toast. She handed it to me and I set it down on my lap. I eyed the cookies warily.</p><p>“I think that kid might have put some of these cookies back after manhandling them,” I said. “But thanks for the toast.”</p><p>“Of course,” Luna said, sitting down next to me on the couch. She picked up the cat and set him on her lap, running her fingers along his back. I scarfed down the toast, then went for the cookies anyway. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. The last time I’d really eaten had been before I’d gone to the wake. Luna sat in silence while I ate, petting Ezrul absentmindedly. She seemed to be lost in thought.</p><p>“What time is it?” I asked, once I’d finished the plate. I set it down on the coffee table.</p><p>“Almost 4, probably,” she answered. “Hey, once you’ve sorted this stuff out with your family, are you going to head back to… wherever it is you’re from?”</p><p>“Eastern Pennsylvania,” I said. “Right on the New Jersey border. I guess so. I mean, do you think I’ll find… ghost stuff? Back home?”</p><p>“The ghost point was an oversimplification,” she said. “There’s all sorts of Others out there, pretty much all over the world. That’s Others with an uppercase ‘O.’ Faeries, trolls, things like that. In most places, the local powers hold weekly or biweekly meetings, and everyone’s encouraged to attend. Doesn’t happen here because… well, everyone hates each other, and the biggest local power is pretty hostile towards humans, but…”</p><p>“Who exactly is it that’s after me?” I asked, interrupting her. “Is that who it is? Biggest local power?”</p><p>“Yes, actually,” Luna said. “Her name’s Jaswan. Queen Jaswan of the faeries. That’s faerie with an ‘e.’ That guy who came after you was one of her subjects, probably a pretty young one if he looked like a teenager. But that’s young in faerie years, so I’d say he’s somewhere in the vicinity of… several hundred years old?”</p><p>“Oh wow.”</p><p>“Human lives are generally pretty insignificant to a queen who established her kingdom long before even the Iroquois arrived from up north, but Aubrey Westbrook changed the landscape pretty drastically. Ironic, actually. Pretty sure Aubrey means ‘elven ruler’ or something like that. I googled it once.”</p><p>“That’s correct,” Ezrul interjected, tail wagging. His eyes glinted mischievously. “Not just ironic. The queen finds the whole thing incredibly insulting. Technically, she only has to travel a few miles south before spirits start appearing again, but her palace, her court, draws power from its immediate environment. And without any spirits present in the area, she’s left at a pretty major disadvantage.”</p><p>“Can’t she just move?” I asked.</p><p>“No,” Ezrul said. “She has an established territory, and she would be encroaching on someone else’s space if she moved. Which I’m sure she wouldn’t particularly care about, except that she would have to start over, rebuild her power and influence from the ground up. It makes more sense to stay here and look for ways to fix the spirit problem. In terms of timescale, this is a pretty recent development.”</p><p>“But she still hates me.”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>“Do you think she’ll try to attack my family at the funeral? Her… palace is in Carthage, right?”</p><p>“Probably,” Luna said, at the same time that Ezrul said “maybe.” Luna looked down at him.</p><p>“Pulling a big stunt like that is risky,” Ezrul explained. “Catherine has a handle on what she’s doing. She’ll probably be expecting an attack, and Jaswan knows it. Doesn’t mean it won’t happen, but the method might be a little sneakier than an outright attack. Especially if they’re at the funeral home.”</p><p>“So my family’s involved too,” I said. “That explains the name thing.”</p><p>“Name thing?” they asked in unison. Ezrul looked up at Luna and gave her a long, slow blink. She smiled and nuzzled his nose with her finger.</p><p>“I told Aunt Cathy that I got my name changed legally and she got really angry and told me that names have power.”</p><p>“Ah,” Luna said. “That would have been good to know before we inducted you.”</p><p>“Why?” I asked.</p><p>“Because your aunt’s right. Names do have power. Now you have <em> two </em> names, officially, in the eyes of the magical world. That’s going to lead to some confusion down the road, I guarantee it.”</p><p>“That isn’t fair,” I said.</p><p>“Never said it was.”</p><p>“So,” I said, trying to wrap my head around the situation, “Aunt Cathy is a practitioner, just like you and Sam, and just like Margot.”</p><p>“And her son,” Ezrul added, helpfully.</p><p>“And her son,” I echoed. “And that explains why she’s safe. Her house is her… domain or whatever, and everyone within is under her protection. Does the rest of my family know about this?”</p><p>“I think her son is vaguely aware, though he’s not a practitioner,” Luna exposited. “I don’t know about her grandkids, definitely not your side of the family. Her husband comes from a long line of diabolists.”</p><p>“Hold up,” I said. “My uncle Roy’s a diabolist? You mean like, an evil practitioner?”</p><p>“Diabolists deal with darker beings. Monsters, bogeymen, demons.”</p><p>“Fuck me,” I said, suddenly feeling sick.</p><p>“I won’t say we tried to warn you,” she said. “I don’t think we did a good enough job.”</p><p>“No, I’m glad I know about this,” I said. “It’s good, it contextualizes everything that’s happened so far. I would’ve gone crazy trying to come up with an explanation if I’d just left and gone home. But still, <em> fuck </em> me.”</p><p>Luna must have caught something in my expression, because she stood, lifting Ezrul so that he sat on her shoulder. I could hear his purring intensify.</p><p>“You should get some sleep,” she said. “We can talk more in the morning, maybe go visit some people. We’ve also got some books in the basement, but I don’t know that there’s a ton of info in them that we couldn’t just tell you about. The funeral’s on Tuesday, correct?” I nodded. “And that’s when your parents are driving up?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do to stop them, but I don’t—”</p><p>“Then we don’t have a lot of time. We’ll do what we can to help you, see how things shake out, and then hopefully part ways on friendly terms?”</p><p>“Sure,” I said. She turned to head for the bedroom. “One last thing, though. How did you know to come to the hotel?”</p><p>“That would be my doing,” Ezrul said, from where his head was smooshed against Luna’s shoulder.</p><p>“Ezrul used to be faerie, a member of Queen Jaswan’s court,” Luna explained.</p><p>“I’m a reformed faerie,” he said. “I sensed one of her people leaving for Watertown, and saw the connection to Cathy.”</p><p>“Connection?” I asked.</p><p>“Open your eyes,” Luna said. It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t chastising me.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Your Vision,” she said. “Use it.”</p><p>I tried to concentrate, staring at Ezrul, the most magical thing I was familiar with. I suddenly felt a connection to him, faint but there nevertheless. There was a stronger connection between me and Luna. There were faint trails of light coming off both of them, particles within slowly drifting in my direction. They looked kind of like how scents were depicted in drawings and cartoons, vague mists emitted from a common source. Not <em> looked, </em> exactly. They existed in another layer over my sight, which wasn’t sight so much as an entirely different sense. They were still there when I closed my eyes.</p><p>I cast the net out wider, “looking” towards the bedroom. Another line connected me to Sam. I could tell that he was asleep. Looking outwards again, I could just barely make out a connection to Artemis, Margot’s son, somewhere about a mile thataway. I found my family in the opposite direction, much further away, but all collected in one place. My uncle, my aunt, my great-aunt’s family, everybody seemed to be accounted for.</p><p>There was another faint connection, somewhere to the west. The thing it connected me to felt like Ezrul. That would be the faerie who attacked me, most likely. I couldn’t go much further than that. My parents were too far away. That was reassuring.</p><p>Attuned to this level of sensitivity, the connection to Luna was overbearing, even though she had left the room. I decreased the scope of my search, and found something a little bit unusual. Somewhere to the east, I felt a connection. I increased the sensitivity a little, and felt the thing move. It wasn’t human, that was for sure, and it didn’t feel like a faerie either. It was pressed up against the underside of a bridge, flat against the bottom, but as it moved it unfurled itself, reaching all the way down into the river below. I immediately stopped looking, alarmed.</p><p>I tried to turn off the Vision, but found it to be incredibly difficult. Looking around, I saw little flits of light, specks of color. They were moving in geometric patterns, distorting my objective reality, psychedelic. For a moment I wondered if my water had been drugged or something, but as I watched, fascinated, they faded from view.</p><p>I lay back on the couch, closing my eyes. I watched as the last vestiges of the Vision sputtered out, leaving me in darkness. Realizing I hadn’t responded to my uncle’s text, I pulled out my phone.</p><p>Someone else had texted me. I squinted at my phone, unlocking it. It was a series of messages from my dad. They must have come through during the ritual.</p><p>
  <em> Hey Jamie, Mom’s actually got the day off tomorrow, so we’ll meet you at the hotel around two. We’ll take maybe an hour to unpack and relax, then we’ll head up to Aunt Cathy’s. Already texted her. Sounds good? Sorry for the late text, hope you see this in the morning :) </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 1.4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Six and a half hours later, my 11AM alarm went off, waking me up. I sat up, groggy and discombobulated, confused by my surroundings. Then I realized where I was, and it all came flooding back: the faerie boy, the ritual, the</span>
  <em>
    <span> talking cat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that noise?” Luna asked, as she emerged from the bedroom, still in her pajamas. She was wearing that black bead necklace again. It must have been tucked under her shirt last night. “Oh, Jamie. Why the alarm? It’s so early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luna,” I said, suddenly alert. I clicked my phone off, and with it, the alarm. “My parents. They’re on their way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” she croaked. “Already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think the queen would attack them during the day? I’m supposed to meet them at the hotel by 2.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she said, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about my hotel room? I left the door open. There’s no way nobody’s noticed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cast a minor perception charm before I broke the window,” Luna said. “It should still be in effect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I said. “That should be okay, as long as I meet them in the lobby and go with them to their room. Can you drive me there? Keep an eye out? Or I can drive, if you’re still tired. My anxiety’s through the roof, so I’m already pretty alert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well hang on,” she said. “We have some time to kill first. How about we get situated, then plan from there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should probably get my backpack out of the car,” I said. “My meds are in there, and it would be a good idea to change my clothes. Can I use your shower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Through the bedroom,” she said. “Just don’t wake Sam up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Key should still be in the car, just open the driver’s side first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna headed into the dining room, and I made my way outside. The door was equipped with a cat flap, I noticed. I found Ezrul sitting outside, on top of the car. He blinked at me as I approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” I said, walking around to the driver’s side door. I pulled it open, then opened the back door in turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Ezrul replied. I was surprised again by how deep his voice was. Definitely nowhere near what a cat should be able to manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I retrieved my backpack from where I’d thrown it. It had fallen onto the ground, likely during one of the many sharp changes in direction Luna had made along the drive. I slammed the door shut and did the same with the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You coming inside?” I asked the cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like to sit outside when I can,” he said. “Sometimes I’ll go after a dragonfly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” I told him. “Enjoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” he said, stretching a little. He sat back down, paws folded underneath himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I reentered the Legere demesne and set my backpack down on the couch, pulling out two medicine bottles. I took one of each, swallowing them dry, then searched in my bag for some clean clothes. I hadn’t come here expecting to stay long, so there was one other t-shirt and a single pair of jeans left in my bag. I looked and saw my bloody button-down lying on the floor where I’d left it, next to the chalk circle. I saw that the pool of blood had been wiped up at least, and with it some of the chalk, so that it wouldn’t stain. I’d probably been too exhausted to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna was sitting at the dining table, which was tall and long but which only had four chairs assembled around it. I imagined they didn’t have company very often. She had her phone in one hand, and her fork in the other, working on a plate of scrambled eggs with some bread that looked nicer than the toast I’d been served last night. My stomach rumbled at the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I use your kitchen?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, raid it, whatever,” Luna said, not looking up from her phone. She scrolled with her finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can pay you back,” I said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need. Neither of us actually work. We just conjure up the cash when we need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can… can I do that?” I asked. She looked up at that, setting her phone down. She pulled a stick out from somewhere I couldn’t see, just like Sam had done last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could,” she said. “The spirits aren’t big on it, which is part of the reason we live out here. You’d need an implement first, though. Implement, familiar, demesne: the three most essential tools of any working practitioner. It’s important to choose these things wisely, though. I can teach you some basic shamanistic runes that only require something to draw with. There’s a book on that downstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” I said. “I just realized. I have no idea how I’m going to duck my parents. There’s no way I’m going to my aunt’s house again.” Luna took a moment to consider this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked, taking me by surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No. What’s that got to do with anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna stood from the table and pretended to shake hands with somebody who wasn’t there. “Hello, Mr and Mrs. Riker. I’m Jamie’s girlfriend, Luna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a terrible idea,” I said, incredulous. “Haven’t you already forfeited some of your power, just by saying that? You can’t tell a lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make it one then,” she said, with a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I did genuinely like her quite a bit. I couldn’t tell if she was hitting on me, though, because she was right, it was pretty practical. It gave me an excuse to be scarce instead of visiting Aunt Cathy again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” I paused to think it over. “They’re going to ask how long we’ve been together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sidestep the question and act awkward. Have you ever brought anyone home before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… had an online relationship in college, which I told them about, but they never met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect,” Luna said. “You pretend to be shy and bashful, and you can get away with practically anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then,” I said, sighing in resignation. “I guess we’re dating. I’m going to make myself some eggs now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All yours,” she said, putting her wand away and returning to her meal. I walked past her into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rummaged through their cabinets until I found a suitable pan, then cracked open two eggs and set the pan on the stove. I found some bread on the counter and a hunk of cheese in the fridge, and assembled a quick breakfast for myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a seat across from Luna and dug in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Luna said, and she was obviously stifling a laugh, “Luna Riker.” I choked a little bit. My hand shot across the table for a napkin and I quickly wiped the egg off my lap. I went for some water next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Straight for the jugular,” I said, after I’d swallowed. “Sounds horrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Maybe you prefer Jamie Legere? That actually sounds pretty sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you literally just tell me I shouldn’t have changed my name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I just said it would’ve been good to know about. Last names work differently, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That reminds me, how did you know my name?” I asked. “Did Ezrul tell you that too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m familiar with the Westbrook family. Ezrul gave me a description, and I took a guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but how did you know it was Jamie and not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never known you by anything else. I only hear about the family because Cathy Westbrook talks and word gets around,” she said. I gave her an annoyed look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean I’ve been gossipped about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard that you were, um, y’know, and I thought about you a lot. Not in a weird way, sorry, that came out sounding a lot gayer than I thought it would. I mean that I envisioned you as the antithesis to Cathy’s existence, somehow, a chaotic force in her life, and I liked the idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked down at my plate and pretended to focus on my food to avoid showing Luna that I was smiling. Also because I was blushing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Runes,” Luna said quickly. “The problem with shamanism around here is that it’s usually a way to curry favor with the spirits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naturally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the absence of spirits, you can try to appeal to minor deities. Rule of thumb with the gods is the more obscure, the better. Here,” she said, procuring a piece of chalk. She drew a circle on the table between us, then turned it into what looked like the peace sign, except that the two prongs on the side extended through the circle. She drew two smaller circles on either side of the lines, within the outer circle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means light,” she said, then intoned: “I call upon Aiya, goddess of the sun, to grant me light in exchange for a small measure of power.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first nothing happened, but then a small ball of light began to appear directly over the rune, increasing in brightness until it was difficult to look at directly. Luna gestured “down” with both hands, and the ball of light dimmed until it was at a more manageable intensity. She reached out with her hands cupped and took the ball, holding it in front of her body. Then she moved her hands to either side of it and clapped, and the ball phased out of existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can give power, or blood, or something else,” she said, “but you have to offer something, or they won’t listen to you. Make sure you aren’t calling upon something evil, or else you might lose more than you bargained for.” I nodded, impressed by the display.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minor gods are the safest bet because they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They aren’t being openly worshipped anymore, so they need sustenance in other forms. Aiya secures her continued existence by being consistent, and by not taking very much from individual practitioners. The other thing she does is heat. She’ll insulate the practitioner and their party, then blast an area with a wave of hot air. Not hot enough to burn, but hot enough to make things miserable for anything nearby. I won’t ask for it now, but the rune is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drew out another rune, a circle with a flame in it, or maybe a three-pointed leaf. I stared at it, trying to memorize it exactly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I have to be drawing these with chalk?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can draw in the dirt with a stick if you want,” she said. “Or pencil on paper. As long as it’s recognizable. You can look through the book later, pick out some runes you like from the chapter on minor deities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I said. “The other point I was curious about—do I have to speak out loud, like you did, or is it enough to just think about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t make a difference if you’re alone,” Luna said, “but if you’ve got friends around, maybe some enemies? They like to hear their name spoken aloud, so that everyone knows where the power is coming from. Deities tend to hold to specific principles along these lines.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the literal opposite of what I was hoping for,” I said, frowning. “If I’m trying to cook my opponents, and they see exactly how I do it, can’t they just use the exact same power against me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can always obscure the rune afterwards,” Luna suggested, “or you could </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> to avoid speaking out loud. You never know, they might listen if you ask nicely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I have a notepad somewhere in my backpack,” I said, holding up a finger. I ran over to the couch and dug through the front pocket, pushing aside a mess of semi-useful items. There. Perfect. A pad of sticky paper, yellow and lined. I found a pen in the smaller pocket and headed back to the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That looks like it’ll work just fine,” Luna said. “Let me get you that book. Don’t expend anything yet, but we can pick out some runes together for you to try and memorize. Name of the deity too, don’t forget.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>1 o’clock came faster than I’d hoped it would. Luna and I spent a little less than an hour looking through the book she returned with for what she called ‘safe bets.’ By the time we were done, I had memorized a good five or six other runes, with associated names. I wasn’t sure they would come to me easily in the heat of the moment, but I felt a lot more capable and safe than I had previously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used the Vision to look for my parents, casting the net outwards, as far south as I could reach. Nothing. I checked my phone. Nothing from my parents either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sent a quick text to my dad. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Will meet you in the lobby asap.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me take a quick shower,” I said. “Then we can head out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One five minute shower later, after I’d toweled off and put on the only clean clothes I had left, I opened the bathroom door to find Sam awake in his bed. He was on his phone, but he squinted up at me as I emerged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man,” he said, “why did you guys get up so early? I still feel like dogshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna, who had been going through her drawers next to her own bed, pushed past me into the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she said. “I gotta shower too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a seat on her bed as I heard the shower start, checking my phone for the time and for potential texts. I was worried we were cutting it close, given that the hotel was about a half hour drive. I was also worried that the Faerie Queen would try something, somehow force my parents into a car crash. I could only hope she didn’t know about the change of plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was another point my mind kept wandering back to. I didn’t know if it was a good idea to leave my parents alone at the hotel, lest they be attacked. Maybe if I drove them to Aunt Cathy’s, and asked them to text me when they wanted to head out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents are on their way,” I said, as much to myself as in answer to Sam’s question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, man,” he said. “That really screws things up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it really does. Luna didn’t tell you anything? We’re leaving as soon as she’s out of the shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just woke up,” he protested. “You want me to come with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I considered it. There would be no way to explain his presence to my parents, since Luna wasn’t supposed to live around here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I said, definitively. I shook my head. “You just woke up. We’ll come back for you as soon as my parents are safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he said. He looked back down at his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, the sound of water stopped. Another minute passed, and Luna came out of the bathroom, wearing a towel. Her necklace stood in contrast to the soft white fabric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out, both of you,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam groaned and rolled out of bed, joining me in exiting the room. He headed for the kitchen, while I took a seat on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna followed us out a surprisingly short amount of time later, wearing a gray top and dressy pants. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No makeup?” I asked her. She shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if I wanted to, we don’t have time,” she said, impatient. “You ready to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” I said, getting to my feet. “Yeah, I guess so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We headed out. Ezrul had left at some point, no longer sitting on top of the car, so we had no problem leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive was nerve-wracking, but since Luna was focused on driving, I had some time to myself to think. Luna was going as fast as she could, pushing the speed limit pretty hard, and it still didn’t feel fast enough. Using my Vision, I was just barely aware of my parents, driving up the highway. They were pretty far away, but they were also traveling marginally faster than us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With each subsequent use of my new sense, it became easier and easier to use, which scared me a little. When we’d been working through the book on shamanism, Luna had warned me against using the Vision for too long. Something about getting stuck in the “spirit world.” I wasn’t sure what that meant in an area with no spirits, but I didn’t exactly want to find out. I realized a little belatedly that Watertown, the city where the hotel was located, was likely outside the twelve-mile radius, and was therefore full of spirits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not every spirit was the ghost of a dead human. In fact, most of them weren’t. Human ghosts tended to slowly degrade over time, as if experiencing rapid onset dementia, and eventually lost their capacity for rational thought and intelligent conversation. Other spirits simply existed, sometimes the ghost of something Other, and sometimes just ambiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It really made me wonder. In fiction, sometimes ghosts just existed, no explanation needed, if the worldbuilding allowed. But facing the existence of ghosts as actual, tangible entities in the world around me… that was quite another thing entirely. I was familiar with the arguments against the existence of souls, and generally found them to be fairly compelling. Then again, there was no room for magic in the standard model, yet here I was, learning about magic and having inexplicable things happen before my very eyes. Just yesterday, I’d cut a deep gash into my hand, only for it to close up in a matter of seconds because Luna’s brother had just… willed it to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The theory and praxis were deeply misaligned, and it bothered me like an itch I couldn’t find the source of. Were there people out there who were working on reconciling the two? Were there models of physics which allowed for the existence of vague, disconnected notions of power which seemed to transcend what was physically possible? If spirits dictated the order of things, what did it mean that magic still worked in their absence? How was the universe deciding what was true and what was false?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently, gods existed and closely resembled those of religious mythology. There was a Ra and a Helios, a Hel and a Pluto, distinct gods with overlapping roles. I didn’t understand how it was possible, unless some kind of magical force was at play, with rules that made it appear as though there were multiple simultaneous pantheons. No gods, just… nebulous manifestations of paranormal energy, given form through the collective imagination of a people, solidified as “entities” once they were given names. Just in case there were real gods, though, I resolved to keep the thought to myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were these deities, whatever they were, the arbiters of truth? What would they, or the universe, do if I happened to utter a paradoxical statement? ‘This sentence is false,’ or something along those lines. It wasn’t strictly a falsehood, but it wasn’t true either. What would the spirits make of that? Could I create my own minor god if I wanted, if I managed to generate enough of a following? Did that mean that the Abrahamic God was also real? Was Jesus a practitioner?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many questions, so little information to go off. There were probably books out there which addressed some of my concerns, hidden literature made available to me now that I was a practitioner. Sam had mentioned getting their books from a “professor.” Maybe there were already answers to most, or even all of these questions. Surely some physicist somewhere had become a practitioner, then investigated the nature of magic. Maybe there was a magical equivalent to CERN, a powerful organization of scientists running tests with magical particle accelerators or whatever. It was sort of a funny thought, but it was also a reassuring one. The world was a big place—if some backwater town in upstate New York was home to a handful of practitioners and a literal Faerie Queen, what else was out there?</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>We arrived at the hotel at almost exactly 2 PM, a little ahead of my parents. Luna parked in the back, and we walked around to the main entrance. On the way, I looked up to see if I could find the broken window, but everything seemed fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on,” I told Luna, and began to count all the third floor windows I could see. My count came to 14. I tried the second floor next, counting what should have been exactly the same number of windows. 15. I counted again, faster this time, and by twos, just to make sure. Yup, I hadn’t miscounted. That would be the perception filter Luna had put in place—even I couldn’t pierce the illusion. Somehow, my eyes had just skipped over the broken window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s pretty cool,” I said, suitably impressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took some work,” she said. “I was in a hurry, so it’s a little bit shoddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We entered the hotel lobby, which was empty save for a man at the desk. He looked up as we entered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” I said. “I checked in last night. I’m just meeting my parents here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds fine,” he said, nodding. “You can have a seat over there if you like.” He gestured at some chairs across the room from him. A thick oriental rug sat on top of the gray carpet between the desk and the sitting area. “There’s also a continental breakfast being served for another hour if you’re interested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” I said, walking over the rug and to the chairs. Luna took a seat next to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whereabouts are you from?” the man asked. I looked over at him, annoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pennsylvania,” I said, curtly, hoping he would pick up on my tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see, I see,” he said, oblivious. “You too, miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said. “I’m from around here. What does it matter to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just curious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Luna said. “We’d just prefer to be left alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s very reasonable. I was only asking to be polite.” Neither of us had anything to say to that. We sat in silence for a few more minutes, until we heard the sound of the hotel’s automatic front doors. I peeked around the corner and was relieved to see my parents walking in, each of them carrying a large suitcase. My mom looked exhausted, big bags under her normally vibrant blue eyes. My dad was wearing a backpack, and I saw an energy drink can in the side pocket. I doubted either of them had gotten much sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got to my feet, as did Luna, and I took her hand, walking forward to greet my parents. Her hand was cold and kind of clammy, but not unpleasantly so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, Dad,” I said. They turned to look at me. There was surprise on their faces when they saw Luna.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jamie,” my dad said. “Who’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Luna,” I said. “We’ve been dating for some time now.” Technically true, except that I meant ‘some time’ as a matter of hours, not weeks or months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s very nice to meet you!” my mom exclaimed, leaving her suitcase standing near the desk. She came over and gave Luna a hug. They were about the same height, I noted. I was a little taller than both of them, but not by very much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you too,” Luna said, smiling. “I hope the drive up was okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, fine, fine,” my mom said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I didn’t tell you guys earlier,” I said. “Seemed like a good opportunity for you to meet, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My dad stepped forward and gave Luna a handshake, once he’d set his backpack on top of his suitcase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You also in grad school?” he asked her, once they’d exchanged pleasantries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” she said. “I work as a researcher, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, huh,” he said. “Research in what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Esoteric literature,” Luna said, without missing a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds interesting. What sort of thing does that entail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, books on mysticism, spirituality, et cetera. Some of the books I’ve looked at are actually really old. It’s interesting to see how ancient peoples viewed the world through the lens of magic and religion.” She must have planned out her responses on the drive down. The half-truths came too easily to be improvised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That does sound really interesting,” my mom said, “but that doesn’t sound like Jamie’s kind of thing at all. Where did you two meet?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There was a question I hadn’t anticipated. There had been too many ways this could go wrong, too many questions we couldn’t answer without either lying or awkwardly dancing around the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I may interject,” said the man behind the desk, “since it doesn’t appear as though you will be checking in anytime soon, Miss Luna said that she was from around here.” I stared at him in shock. He was wearing a neutral expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s none of your business,” Luna told him, also apparently taken aback. I looked closely at the man. He was wearing a light blue button up with a silver name tag that read ‘Clark.’ His face… as I stared at it, it seemed to change from that of a very normal man in his mid thirties to something a little bit different. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>Other. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He smiled at me as I came to the realization.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a reason Jaswan hadn’t sent anyone after my parents, and it was the same reason the faeries had let me and Luna go free after we’d headed back north. Once events had been set in motion, there wasn’t any need for an aggressive play. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The trap had already been set.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 1.5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You should get going,” I said to my parents. If only I’d managed to stop them from coming up altogether, this wouldn’t have happened. Their presence here made everything infinitely more complicated. “I can check you in and take your stuff up to your room. Maybe Luna can drive you to Aunt Cathy’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… I guess I can do that,” Luna said, looking at me in confusion. Fuck. She hadn’t caught on yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on,” my dad said. “I want to take a moment to relax and unwind before we head out. What’s the rush? The wake was yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good, sir,” ‘Clark’ said. “What’s the last name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Riker,” I said. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I can handle this.” I looked at Luna for help. She gave me a weird look in response. Staying as still as I could manage, so that I didn’t alert my parents, I tilted my head towards the man behind the counter, eyebrows raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need for that,” my dad said, as ‘Clark’ looked up the room on the computer at the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes. Room 323. You should be all set. Here are your keycards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked to Luna again and could tell from her expression that she was spooked. Thank goodness. I didn’t feel quite so alone, seeing that. I tensed as my dad took the keycards, but ‘Clark’ didn’t try anything. Luna eyed the cards warily, and I saw her muttering something under her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really Dad, it’s alright. I can take your stuff up. You guys head to Aunt Cathy’s. I bet you’re pretty hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might I suggest our continental breakfast,” ‘Clark’ said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, that’s fine,” I said, giving him a short, angry glare. “I’m sure my aunt’s expecting us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright, Jamie?” my mom asked. She looked concerned, which made me anxious. “What’s that scar on your hand? Is that new?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh man, the scar. I’d totally forgotten, and it looked like Luna had too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it, I’m al—” I cut myself off, catching myself before I could lie. “I’ll be alright,” I said. “I just really think you guys should head to Aunt Cathy’s, as soon as you can.” My dad gave me a funny look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any reason you’re so keen on us leaving?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t… really explain it.” I searched for something that might give me a plausible excuse. I settled on something that sounded pretty weak to me. “I have a hunch that Aunt Tilda might get into it with Cathy based on my interactions with her yesterday. I think it’s smart for you to get there as soon as possible. Just… trust me?” Enough ambiguity that it couldn’t be construed as a lie. I hated feeling like this, like I was abusing my parents’ trust, even if I was keeping them safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” he stared at me searchingly. I stared back, trying to keep my expression under control. “I guess we can do that..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I said that I’m from around here… my brother lives a few miles away from your aunt,” Luna said, quickly. “So I know the area pretty well. I can drive you there, if you want to take your parents’ stuff up, Jamie?” I nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked at ‘Clark,’ who was watching the scene expressionlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” my dad said, shrugging. “You sure everything’s alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll meet you there,” I said, then realized what I’d done by saying that. Might as well commit to it. “I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My current plan was to duck out the back with their luggage as soon as they were gone, then drive off in Luna’s car. I doubted that ‘Clark’ would make it that easy. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hoped</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I knew just enough to ward him off or beat him in a fight, if it came down to it. I gave Luna a hug, and whispered “keys” into her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already got you,” she whispered back, and I felt her drop something into my pocket. “The cards aren’t rigged or cursed, as far as I can tell.” Feeling a little awkward with my parents watching, I gave her a chaste peck on the cheek to make the intimacy more believable and walked over to my dad next, giving him a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here you go,” he said, giving me one of the room keys. I made sure to give my mother a hug too. She squeezed me just a bit too tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” I said. “See you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had gone about as terribly as it could have possibly gone. I’d have to rely on Luna to make a good impression, and I still didn’t know her well enough to ensure that she would be successful. She led my parents out the front door. My mom waved at me through the glass. I waved back. As soon as they were gone, I turned to the receptionist. He was giving me a dark look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no point in delaying the inevitable,” he said. “Even if you get away here, your fate was sealed once you became a practitioner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a little odd that there’s nobody around,” I said, refusing to engage with him on his terms. “That’s a clever bit of magic, keeping everyone else out of the lobby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have it backwards,” he said. “This isn’t the lobby at all. We’re actually outside.” As he said that, the illusion shattered, reality around me fragmenting into squares, triangles, and diamonds and literally falling away until I found myself standing in an empty parking lot. I saw Luna and my parents getting into a car a short distance away. They didn’t seem to be able to see me, even though they were looking more or less directly at me. I could tell that some fairly powerful magic was at play here. The real hotel was a few yards that way, and as I watched, an older couple exited via the front doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank god I’d stopped my parents from trying to go to their room. If those chairs we’d sat in had been solid and “real” in some sense, I was certain that a staircase or elevator would have been just as real. Then all the faerie would have had to do was break the illusion, and they’d plummet to the pavement. There was no telling that it would be from a normal third floor height, either. In fact, there were any number of ways my parents could have gotten hurt or killed if I hadn’t convinced them to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spun my head back around just in time to see ‘Clark’ take a step towards me. Just a step. He stopped moving after that, and gave me a broad smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I was saying,” he said, “your fate was sealed once you became a practitioner. Either you will die, or someone you care about will die. This is an unalterable fact of your future. Which of these outcomes transpires is up to you, in the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t—how can you know that for sure?” I looked back again to see Luna and my parents pulling out onto the highway. Small mercies. I hoped that she was able to field their questions without arousing too much suspicion. I eyed my parents’ luggage, over by where ‘Clark’ was standing. My dad had taken his backpack. I was hoping everything important was in there, and that the suitcases were mostly clothes, because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to salvage them. I drew the notepad and pen from my pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, let’s see,” he said. “If I’m telling a lie, I shouldn’t be able to perform magic, correct?” He raised his fingers and snapped, deliberately making a big deal out of it, and a table appeared between us. I knew it wasn’t strictly real, but I could still see details like small scratches in the wood and even a perfectly angled shadow. I focused hard on its unreality, and it shattered just like the rest of the lobby interior had. “You’re good at seeing through glamour, for a novice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I suspected that had something to do with my background as a mathematician. I was very good at abstraction, thinking of things in terms of their properties rather than how they appeared to function on a surface level. I didn’t say this out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know about faeries,” I said. “Who says you have to follow the same rules that practitioners do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scout’s honor,” he said, mockingly raising one hand and putting his other hand over his heart. “Faeries can’t lie anymore than practitioners can. Death is in the cards for you. You should be grateful that I’m willing to help put you out of your misery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scribbled a rune down as quickly as I could. “I call upon—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My notepad burst into flames and I dropped it reflexively before I could even feel the heat, backing up until I pressed up against a car. I watched in horror as my only weapon burned up quickly, faster than it should have, until only a charred husk remained. I scanned my surroundings for anything else I could use. My eyes fell upon what looked to be a parking ticket, tucked into the windshield of the car a few spots down. My only hope now was to get over there and inconspicuously retrieve that ticket. Or get inside the hotel, though I wasn’t certain I wouldn’t be putting innocent lives on the line if I did. I could see where Luna had parked, my rental a few cars down. No way I could get to either car, not when the faerie was blocking my way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped towards me, his hand held out in front of him like a waiter. Something sparked, and suddenly he was holding a flame. Unlike the flame which had engulfed my notepad, the fire that burned in his outstretched hand was a deep purple color. I could feel the heat from where I stood. It only got worse as he approached. If I had only had the sense to run as soon as the fake lobby had dropped away… no, if he could burn my notepad, a car filled with combustible fluid might not be very safe after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was out of my depth, completely inexperienced, and left with no tricks or tools at my disposal. Even if faeries couldn’t lie, I doubted I’d be able to trick him out of his power. He was an adult, which probably made him about a thousand years old or something ridiculous like that. It was more likely that I would fuck up and choke, losing my own ability to practice. I wasn’t sure I hadn’t already screwed myself over on that front anyway. Unless… I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure it would work. I couldn't really see an alternative, though. I just had to hope I didn't die in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezrul had probably noticed the danger a while ago, which meant that Sam was… stranded without a car, actually. Wow. We’d really walked right into this one. Maybe if I’d had some more presence of mind, I could’ve had Luna stay behind while I drove my parents. I didn’t know that I was comfortable with putting her in danger like that, but she was probably more capable; I’d just really wanted to avoid going back to Aunt Cathy’s, even though I was now obligated to. How would Cathy take it if Luna showed up with my parents? Would she blow our cover? Would Luna stay in the car? So many problems with this plan in retrospect. No doubt Luna was thinking the same thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I skirted along the fronts of the vehicles, pretending to trip onto the hood of the car with the parking ticket so that I could grab it and quickly draw a rune. I tucked it in my pocket as I straightened up, and ran across the sidewalk surrounding the hotel to the parking lot on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning around, I saw the faerie striding towards me, the purple fire now a ball between his hands. I ducked as he threw it my way, then frantically crab-walked into a run to the side as I saw how low he had actually aimed. The ball curved in its path, and I just barely managed to jump over it, the flames licking at my shoe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Motherfuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was hot. My pants caught on fire from sheer proximity to the thing, and I could tell that my calf had probably been burned. The shock and adrenaline kept the pain from registering too badly. At least I hoped it was shock and adrenaline. The alternative was that I'd just received a third degree burn. The purple flame did seem to be significantly hotter than normal fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used my other shoe to tamp out the fire, as quickly as I could. The ball had winked out as I’d managed to duck out of sight, around the corner. Apparently he had to see it in order to control it. I sprinted towards the back of the hotel, trying to make it to the next corner, and almost ran up against a wall of purple fire, blocking my escape. The heat forced me back several large steps. I turned on my attacker, who was standing at the other corner, not moving, hands held out in front of him. I hoped it was taking something out of him to keep the wall up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rune on the ticket was my trump card. I didn’t remember enough about the god I’d taken a chance on to know if it would do exactly what I wanted, but I was reasonably certain. A rudimentary plan began to take shape in my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huehuecoyotl,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought, directing the thought heavenward. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re a trickster, and so is this faerie. I need you to beat him at his own game, prank him, somehow, maybe get him to lie. I promise that I will spread the word of your deeds, here. I just need your help. I use the rune in my pocket to draw on your power, in exchange for some of mine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clark!” I cried out. “I want to talk.” The flames went out. I didn’t run, aware of how easily he could strike me down if he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Calarok,” he said, “and there is no reason for us to ‘talk’. Prey does not negotiate with predator.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something that will interest you greatly,” I said, in reference to the ticket in my pocket. Ambiguously true. I really hoped this didn’t come back to bite me. Then again, I wasn’t actually sure if shamanism counted as a true expenditure of power. If I lied and lost my power, then offered blood to a god, would the transaction be hindered somehow?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lying,” he said, with a sneer. “I smell your deceit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That threw me off a little. He was either relying on his ability to render my statement false with his general disinterest, or else Huehuecoyotl’s influence was already at play here. By calling my bluff, he’d put us in a situation where one of us had to be lying. I had to prove to the spirits that my assertion was true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled, hoping against all hope that this worked, that I hadn’t been praying into dead air, or to a dead god. “Go ahead,” I said. “Shoot another fireball at me. Guarantee you it doesn’t work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could see him hesitate, then raise his hand to conjure another fireball. I held my breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing happened. No flames, no spark of power. Hoooly shit, I couldn’t believe that had actually worked. I imagined the trickster god standing behind him, blowing out the fire as soon as the faerie lit it. My boy Huehuecoyotl, coming in clutch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he said, shocked, and maybe a little bit amazed. “What could you possibly have with you that would interest me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stepped towards him and pulled the parking ticket out of my pocket, showing him what I’d drawn on the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shamanism!?” he roared in disbelief. “You defeated me with shamanism? What is that rune?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting, huh?” I said. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without warning, without windup, he rushed me, and punched me hard in the side of the face as I tried to turn away. The force of the punch sent me flying. I landed a few feet from where I’d been standing. A miscalculation on my part. I’d forgotten that he was still physically my superior. The hormones I pumped into my bloodstream on a daily basis made me weaker, less muscular, whereas he was hundreds of years old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still reeling, I looked up to see him walking back towards me. I rolled out of the way as he attempted to bodyslam me, and found myself lying on my stomach. I tried to push myself to my feet, but the faerie stepped on my back, forcing me back down. Asphalt fucking sucked. It was hard, rough, and smelled really weird up close. Strange, that the smell of the pavement was the only thing I could really think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calarok stomped on my back, hard, and I groaned involuntarily. “Tell me what that rune is. The spirits aren’t smart enough for convoluted retroactive bullshit like that.” My jaw felt fucked up, dislocated. I wasn’t even sure I was capable of speech. “What god? Tell me, or I swear I will rip your spine out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hue—” I managed, then stopped as I ran out of breath. The pressure the faerie was exerting on my back made it difficult for me to inhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I heard a high-pitched giggle, and the pressure on my back let up. I heaved in a breath, grateful for the degree of freedom from my captor. It took me a second to realize there was no way that sound had come out of Calarok’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” the faerie asked angrily. No way he was talking to me. I pushed myself up a little and looked around. I couldn’t see anyone else in the parking lot besides Calarok, who had backed away from me. He was looking at the bushes across from the side of the hotel. I squinted, but I was still unable to see anything. “Show yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huehuecoyotl,” I said finally, still on the ground, the word barely intelligible. Weakly, I raised my hand to my jaw. Definitely dislocated. I tried to push it back into place and almost screamed in pain. I might have fractured something too. My right arm was bright red, covered in painful road rash, as was my right knee, where the force of my impact with the pavement had torn a hole in my jeans. Including the burn on the back of my leg, which I could barely feel above the other pain that wracked my body, I was already beginning to amass a sizable collection of injuries, and it was only my first day as a practitioner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The laugh came again, from somewhere in the bushes. Calarok wasn’t even paying attention to me anymore. Was that my new patron trickster god, or was it something else? I could tell from the faerie’s defensive stance that he was frightened, somehow, by whatever it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at me, then back at the bushes, and then he </span>
  <em>
    <span>sprinted, </span>
  </em>
  <span>full speed, away from the hotel and towards the road. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was scared. I got to my feet, definitely pretty worse for the wear, and eyed the bushes warily. Again, that high-pitched laugh, a third time. It was creepy, far higher than a human voice should have been capable of, unless they were in a Mozart opera or something. A pair of red glowing dots appeared, staring at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to limp away, and then the thing those eyes belonged to emerged from the bushes. It was short, humanoid, with pale green skin. It had two holes where a nose should have been, and a big overwide smile that looked like it had been literally carved into its face, jagged and almost bloody in appearance. It was naked, with a featureless torso that stood in stark contrast to its cherubic genitalia. Its testicles hung low, swinging back and forth slightly between its legs, which were spread apart not because it was standing like that, but because its </span>
  <em>
    <span>hips</span>
  </em>
  <span> were freakishly wide. I’d never seen anything like it before. At least Clark and the faerie boy who’d attacked me last night had looked like normal humans. This thing was an absolute nightmare to behold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saved you,” it said, in that way-too-high register. Its voice was strangely affected, unfamiliar with the language, and its “lips” moved awkwardly as it sounded out the words. It sounded almost… Russian, maybe, or Eastern European. “Why do you run from me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hought—I’m shorry,” I said, choking on my words. The way my jaw was positioned, I couldn’t make the ‘s’ sound properly. ‘T’s were difficult too. It also just hurt to speak in general. A lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Many people run from me,” it said. “Do you… fear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re shcary,” I said, “but I hink you might be the leash of my worries, honeshly?” Ouch. I resolved to use fewer words in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not worry,” it said, slowly scuttling towards me. It put me in the mind of some of the characters from the Monsters, Inc franchise. I didn’t move from where I stood. It stopped a few feet from me. I could smell it from where I was standing, a musty, fetid stench that made me want to retch. “I will not hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… what do you wan from me?” I asked, hoping the smell would go away as I got used to it. It didn’t, instead only growing stronger the more I focused on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name, it is Veelo. I ask only for a favor, in exchange for life saved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends on the favor,” I said, cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not worry,” it said, again. “No need to agree now, only promise to find me later and ask what is the favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’ tell me now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You come back stronger, more skills with your magic and more facts in your head. Then we can talk. Remember me, Veelo, and promise me you will return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” I couldn’t see anything wrong with the creature’s proposition. It seemed reasonable enough.  It had, in fact, probably saved my life.  All I had to do was come back later, likely with some others in tow, and hear what it had to say. On some level, the simplicity of the thing’s request bothered me. There had to be a catch, somewhere just around the corner. As far as I knew, though, there was no reason not to say yes. “I promish I’ll come back and lishen to your requesh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Veelo said. “We make good exchange. Goodbye, friend Riker.” And with that said, it appeared to vanish into thin air, startling me. Knowing about magic and seeing it performed in front of me multiple times hadn’t yet impacted the novelty of each new magical phenomenon I witnessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Battered and bruised, I leaned up against the side of the hotel, between two windows. I hadn’t even considered that there might be other people around, that maybe some civilian had seen something, but it seemed that I’d gotten lucky. Or maybe it was intentional, something the faeries had done deliberately to obscure the truth of what was going on for everyday humans, like they’d done with the hotel. Well, my parents had seen the fake hotel. Maybe it worked with specific individuals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I returned to the other side of the parking lot and loaded up Luna’s car with my parents’ luggage. I paused, gave it another thought, then took them out of the car and loaded up the rental instead. If I was going to drive to Aunt Cathy’s, it wouldn’t do to show up in a different car, even if Luna appreciated it. I would drive there in the rental, then we’d have to drive back in the rental and get in separate vehicles. I didn’t want anything to do with the hotel anymore. I wasn’t comfortable leaving a car in the parking lot, where one of Jaswan’s people could do something to it. There was no way to know that they hadn’t already. What a mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had to come up with a reason that my parents couldn’t return to the hotel. I really hoped that Cathy would give them a place to stay, and that the “not enough room” was just because she’d wanted me out of the picture. It was a pretty big house, to be honest. Maybe I could shut down the hotel, somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walked over to where my notepad had burned and tried to see if that had been an illusion. I focused on the unreality of the charred husk of carbon, trying to break through. Nothing. Looked like it really had burned. I’d need to buy a new one at some point, and also some other supplies, for that matter. Maybe the Legeres could conjure up some cash for me. The hotel room key, on the other hand, had vanished from my pocket, likely because it hadn’t been real to begin with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I entered the real hotel lobby, and this time there were people around. I must have looked pretty terrible, because I got several strange looks. I wasn’t bleeding, at least as far as I knew, but my jaw was sitting wrong in my face and I was pretty banged up otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spotted a pad of paper on the receptionist’s desk and walked over there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind?” I asked, which hurt. The receptionist shook her head, so I went for the top sheet of the pad. I looked at the clock, which read 2:35. If Clark had been telling the truth, there was still a continental breakfast being served. I stepped into the hallway at the back and looked down towards the dining room. There were a few people milling about inside, several others sitting at tables in groups. Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I entered the dining room. No cameras that I could see, which was perfect. My jaw was beginning to swell up, which I hoped would make me relatively unrecognizable. I put some fruit and a single croissant on my plate, then sat at one the tables and scarfed it down as quickly as I could. Nobody spared me more than a glance, maybe uncomfortable with my rough appearance. Then, I took out the sheet of paper and did what I’d come here to do, drawing out the first rune that Luna had shown me, earlier that day. Fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slid my hand under the tablecloth and held it out as I’d seen both Luna and Clark do, then whispered a prayer to the goddess Aiya. I held my hand there until I felt the heat of the table leg catching fire. With that, I stood and deposited my plate on the housekeeping cart nearby, and exited the room, ignoring the sounds of alarm that people began to make as the fire spread to the tablecloth. I walked back out through the lobby and returned to my rental, then hopped into the driver’s side, too tired and hurt to feel any real emotion. I felt the absence of the power I’d given up, an uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. I’d go to Luna’s first, get Sam to heal me as best he could, then I’d head to Aunt Cathy’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was just about to pull out when I saw a familiar vehicle pull up in the empty spot to my left. Margot Behaim’s station wagon. Surprised, I looked through the window and saw a black cat staring back at me. I could’ve cried, right then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Sam said, impressed, as we both got out of our cars and stood together in the parking lot. Ezrul hopped out after him and padded over, looking up at us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look terrible,” Ezrul said. “Guess that faerie messed you up pretty badly.” I wondered what Ezrul’s speech sounded like to other people. Just some meows, I guessed, from the little I’d seen before the ritual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We came as fast as we could,” Sam said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only alive because of a coinshidensh,” I said, the words slurring together. “Met a weird creashure. Can you heal me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” he said, “but I won’t be able to drive if I heal everything. Maybe just your face. Looks pretty swollen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dishlocated jaw, poshibly broken,” I said. “Can’ shpeak much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might want to leave,” I said. “Shet fire to hotel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did what!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exshcushe for parentsh,” I said, holding my jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Jamie,” Sam said. “This is a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re tellin’ me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s get out of here. We can stop somewhere along the way and I’ll fix your jaw. Luna and I will handle the rest of your injuries tonight.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 1.6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I pulled up to Aunt Cathy’s house in my rental, just as I had on my very first day here (which felt like a very long time ago at this point, even though it was just yesterday), except this time I was wearing one of Luna’s t-shirts and a pair of Sam’s jeans. My arm and my knee still hurt, especially where they chafed against my clothes, but my jaw was back to normal. I checked myself over in the rearview mirror just to confirm that I looked presentable, if tired.</p><p>I got out and peered in through the window of my parents’ car, just to confirm that Luna wasn’t sitting inside. She wasn’t, which meant that she’d felt comfortable entering Aunt Cathy’s demesne. Must have taken some nerve.</p><p>My mom was the first to greet me at the door, pulling me into a tight hug.</p><p>“Glad you made it,” she said.</p><p>“Me too,” I said. “There was a fire at the hotel. You should probably stay the night here.”</p><p>“A fire? That’s terrible! Is everyone okay?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” I said. “I got out before I could find out. Your luggage is in the trunk.”</p><p>My dad and uncle were next to emerge. It was a relief to see them here, safe for the moment.</p><p>“Hi Jamie,” my uncle said.</p><p>“Hi Uncle Mitch.”</p><p>“What’s this about a fire?” my dad asked.</p><p>“Something caught fire in the hotel dining room after you left,” I said. “I got out of there pretty quickly.”</p><p>“What took you so long to get here, then?” he asked.</p><p>“I… stopped at Luna’s brother’s place, to change.”</p><p>I heard a kid cheer from the other room, followed by a loud “goddammit.” That would be Patrick and his family.</p><p>“Come on in,” Mitch said, which I was grateful for. “Stay for a while. We can talk more once your shoes are off.”</p><p>“Sure,” my dad said, nodding at that, and he and my mom walked back into the living room. Uncle Mitch stayed behind as I pulled my sneakers off.</p><p>“You didn’t respond to my text, kid,” he said, in a low voice. “Not a big deal, but you had me worried there for a minute. Everything alright?”</p><p>“Sorry,” I said. “I totally forgot to text you back when I saw my dad’s message about them coming down today.”</p><p>“No no, don’t apologize, I’m just trying to understand. Why’d you ask me to text you if I was okay? And why didn’t you introduce your girlfriend yesterday?”</p><p>“I—” I began, not sure how to answer either question. I was getting really tired of having to talk my way around the truth. I hated being dishonest—it tended to make me anxious—and the restriction on lying ironically forced me into telling even less of the truth than I would have otherwise. It started to hit me just how different my life would be from this point on. My relationship with my parents, with my friends back home… all of it would have to be based on deception, which was, again, really not my strong suit.</p><p>“Hey Jamie!” a voice called out from the living room. Luna’s voice. “I gotta pee. Take my place?”</p><p>“Sure,” I said in response, walking over to the doorway. A folding table and some chairs had been set up in the middle of the room, the chess table pushed into one corner. Patrick and his daughters were playing Monopoly with Luna. Jay was having a conversation with his grandparents on the couch. Aunt Cathy saw me and gave me a brief vacant stare which I couldn’t parse, then jumped back into the conversation, saying something I couldn’t hear over the noise of dice being rolled.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” I told my uncle, before taking Luna’s place at the table.</p><p>“Bathroom’s down, um,” Patrick said, waggling his finger in the general direction of the entryway.</p><p>“I saw it on the way in,” Luna said, “but thanks.” She gave me a wink before she disappeared into the other room, which left me feeling a little flustered, even though I wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to convey.</p><p>“Your turn, Emma,” Patrick said, snapping me back into the moment. I looked across the table at Emma, who was on her phone.</p><p>“Cassie, if I land on your reds again, I swear to god.” I looked at the board, and noted the scattered houses as well as a single hotel. I flashed back momentarily to the screams of the brunching hotel guests as they noticed the fire I’d set. I hadn’t felt very much of anything at the time, but now looking back on it, I really hoped I hadn’t hurt anyone. Of all the games they could’ve chosen to play.</p><p>Emma rolled a pair of fives, which put her on the last unowned railroad.</p><p>“Hehehe,” she said. “I’m taking it.”</p><p>I zoned out as she and Patrick made the exchange and Patrick took his turn. Luna returned before it came around to be my turn and took a seat on my thigh before I could stand. Cassie giggled, and I did my best to stop from blushing, reasoning that I wouldn’t be blushing so much if we were actually dating instead of fake dating and had been for more than, like, a week? I hadn’t had anyone sit on my leg before, though. At least she wasn’t sitting on my lap, but it still felt weirdly intimate. There hadn’t been any need to take the ruse <em> this </em> far.</p><p>Awkwardly, gingerly, I put my hands on her waist and lifted her off my leg, sliding out from underneath her.</p><p>“I’m going to get something to eat,” I announced, to give some more purpose to the action. I saw Cassie take her sister’s arm and whisper something into her ear.</p><p>“Cassie!” Emma admonished, slapping her arm away. It was a playful slap, though, and Emma looked amused. I resolved to ignore them.</p><p>My parents were having a conversation about booking another nearby hotel in the kitchen when I entered.</p><p>“Oh, Jamie,” my mom said, voice low, conspiratorial. “You were right, by the way.”</p><p>“I was right? About what?”</p><p>“Tilda got into an argument with Aunt Cathy this morning, and she left.” My heart dropped into my stomach.</p><p>“What do you mean?” I asked. “Where are they now?”</p><p>“They’re staying the night in Carthage,” she said. “We were just texting about how we’re going to meet up later tonight.” I couldn’t decide if that was a relief to hear, or if it was highly alarming. There was a very real possibility that my aunt had already been overtaken, and that someone was impersonating her. <em> Carthage… that’s where the Faerie Queen lives. </em></p><p>Trying to keep everyone safe was a losing battle, like I was herding cats made of jello in the rain. A little belatedly, I realized that I could keep tabs on my aunt with my Vision, and I looked out in the direction of Carthage.</p><p>Tilda and Peter, inside some kind of store. I sensed Clark as well, located in the same general area as the first faerie I’d encountered. I was reassured by the knowledge that there was some distance between the two parties, though there were certainly other faeries I didn’t know about. Maybe Clark’s failure had managed to convince Jaswan to stop trying to kill us off individually. Or maybe… I considered the fact that both attacks had taken place in Watertown, half an hour away from the Westbrook exclusion zone. Maybe the Queen wasn’t prepared to kill people in the area, for whatever reason. All the same, I was concerned. </p><p>“Well if Aunt Tilda’s not staying the night,” I said, “why can’t you stay here in her place?”</p><p>“That’s a good point,” my dad acknowledged.</p><p>“I guess that makes sense,” my mom said. “If Aunt Cathy’s okay with it. Speaking of which, Mitch told us you left pretty early yesterday?”</p><p>“I stayed with Luna’s brother,” I said. “Cathy pissed me off.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry baby,” she said, giving me a sympathetic smile.</p><p>“Not unexpected,” I said, with a shrug. I turned to the table, which was covered in food, just as it had been yesterday. I took a paper plate and loaded it up with a little bit of everything.</p><p>“Shouldn’t be like that, though,” my dad said.</p><p>“Yeah, well…”</p><p>I took a few bites, then set my plate on the counter. It seemed like the conversation was over, so I headed back into the dining room and tapped Luna on the shoulder.</p><p>“Need to talk to you,” I said. </p><p>“Okay,” she said. “I give up. Bankrupt.”</p><p>“She was going to lose in a few turns anyway,” Emma said, as I started to protest. Patrick collected her money and cards, returning them to the bank. </p><p>“What’s up?” Luna asked, once we were out of earshot, standing at the base of the staircase.</p><p>“I need Sam’s number.”</p><p>“You couldn’t have asked me around the others?”</p><p>“They would’ve wondered why you didn’t just send it via text.”</p><p>“Fair point.”</p><p>“And I also wanted to ask about the… sitting on my leg thing?”</p><p>“Oh,” she said. “Sorry about that. Do you have a thing about physical contact?”</p><p>“No, it’s not that. It’s fine, don’t worry. Um…” I thought about how to phrase my objection. “It was awkward, and I don’t think you had to take it that far.”</p><p>“Sorry,” she said, wincing. “I won’t do it again.”</p><p>“Sam’s number,” I said, quickly changing the subject. “It would be nice to have yours too.”</p><p>“What do you need it for?”</p><p>“I need someone to keep an eye on my aunt.”</p><p>“An eye on your aunt… Cathy?”</p><p>“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, I don’t trust Cathy as far as I can throw her, but I’m talking about my aunt, aunt. Matilda. She and her husband are in Carthage right now, and I think they might be staying the night.”</p><p>“Oh,” Luna said, “that won’t be an issue, actually. I guarantee you Jaswan won’t go after them. She won’t hurt anyone within the—” She made a circular gesture with her index finger.</p><p>“Exclusion zone?”</p><p>“Whatever. Jaswan has principles, and she won’t send innocents to hell.”</p><p>“Innocents.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Luna said. “We’re both exempt from that, of course, as are Cathy and Roy.”</p><p>“I heard my name,” came a voice from behind me. Luna and I jumped, turning to see who had spoken. Of course, there could be no mistaking the voice.</p><p>“Aunt Cathy,” I said, flatly. “It’s good to see you again. Apologies for yesterday’s outburst.” She went on standing there, unsmiling, refusing to offer me the slightest hint of emotion.</p><p>“Please, dispense with the pleasantries. I assume you know what you’re doing; otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”</p><p>“I have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” I said, keeping my voice low. The sounds of monopoly in the other room drowned out our conversation. “If you mean that I’m practicing now, then yes, I am.”</p><p>“You could have taken my offer,” she said, still expressionless. I got the sense she wanted to convey that I wasn’t worth her time. That made me angry. “I would have put you up somewhere in Carthage. You would be safe and, more importantly, none the wiser to any of this. Cruel twist of fate that by rejecting me, you’ve signed your own death warrant.”</p><p>“You’re the second person I’ve met who’s said that,” I said. “That I or someone around me is going to die.”</p><p>“And I’m sure I won’t be the last,” she said. “Most new practitioners don’t last very long. Before they can establish power and acquire the necessary knowledge and tools, they get suckered into promises they can’t keep and games they don’t know the rules of. Everyone in this world preys on naivety, even those apparently acting in good faith.”</p><p>“That’s very reductive,” Luna said. Aunt Cathy ignored her and continued.</p><p>“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, reaching behind her neck to unclasp some kind of necklace. A locket, apparently. She held it in her hand and bobbed it up and down gently, as if feeling its weight. “This was my mother’s. Now it’s my implement, and it deals with history and memory.”</p><p>“You’re suggesting you wipe my memory,” I said, making it a statement.</p><p>“Yes,” Aunt Cathy said. “I can make it so that you chose to stay the night here, thereby undoing your Awakening.”</p><p>“And what do I get in exchange?” I asked. She gave me a thin smile.</p><p>“This wouldn’t be for my benefit, Jamie.”</p><p>Ouch. Hearing my name spoken like that… she made it sound like a <em> slur</em>. I would rather she had used my deadname, in that moment. I swallowed, and gave her a long look. Calmly, she slid the locket into her pocket.</p><p>“No,” I said. “You need me as an ally, at least for tomorrow. After that… I might consider it.”</p><p>“Tomorrow?” she asked.</p><p>“Um, the funeral?” I asked in response, a little incredulously.</p><p>“Do you know who runs that funeral home, Jamie Riker?”</p><p>“A practitioner?” I guessed.</p><p>“Juneau Astrid, a man who’s been in his forties for the last hundred years. He was the one who escorted my mother outside of the dead zone to pass away peacefully and become a spirit, as is the way of things. Do you know how many individuals had it out for my mother?”</p><p>“Rightfully so,” I said. “In any case, I don’t think Jaswan will ca—”</p><p>“We do not speak that name in this house,” my aunt boomed suddenly, and I half expected a clap of thunder to follow.</p><p>“T-the Queen,” I said, a little shaken. “What does this Juneau guy have on her? She’s gotta be way older than him.”</p><p>“Those who practice the magic of death are not so easily dismissed. Nor is a senior diabolist. I expect that some other powerful practitioners will be present as well. It would be in her best interest not to attend.”</p><p>“And if she does?”</p><p>“She will not.”</p><p>“And <em> if she does?” </em> I asked again, more forcefully this time.</p><p>“She will not be met with a fair fight,” Aunt Cathy said. “That is all.”</p><p>“I have a hard time believing that after meeting her underling.”</p><p>“Faeries are nothing but glamour,” she said simply.</p><p>“Again, reductive,” Luna said quietly. Aunt Cathy looked at her, as if noticing her for the first time.</p><p>“I have allowed a Legere in my house because of you,” she said to me.</p><p>“Very kind,” I said, with none of the regular inflection.</p><p>“Do you know about their mother?” Aunt Cathy asked me. Luna stiffened.</p><p>“No,” I said, “but I doubt it would change my mind about anything. You’re a Catholic, right? What does the Bible say about the sins of the father?”</p><p>“A Catholic married to a diabolist, now there’s a funny thought,” she said, though the referenced humor didn’t reach her voice. “You’re right, though, of course. I suppose it would be more accurate to ask: ‘do you know <em> what </em> their mother was?’”</p><p>“No,” I said, “but again…”</p><p>“A rapist,” she said, answering her own question. “A serial murderer. An <em> Other.” </em>I gave Luna a sidelong glance. She looked absolutely petrified.</p><p>“I don’t care,” I said, cold seeping into my voice. “I don’t care if you’re speaking metaphorically, or if she’s really part faerie, part demon, whatever. The fact that you’re trying to convince me not to associate with her says a lot more about you than it does about her. Nothing I didn’t already know. Different flavors of bigotry often get packaged together.”</p><p>“And I suppose you have a peanut allergy,” Aunt Cathy said, which confused me until I realized she was taking the last thing I'd said as a metaphor. “You can’t compare the human world and the magical world so readily. Others are naturally hostile towards humanity, a sentiment I’ve had confirmed time and time again. It’s something you’ll appreciate with time.”</p><p>“Is that why you don’t have a familiar?” I asked.</p><p>“I do have a familiar,” she said. “A spirit with no corporeal form. You might call it a wraith, perhaps, though it is not vengeful. It tends to wander, returning every now and again with information to share.”</p><p>“News to me,” Luna said, and I saw surprise flicker across her face. “How is that possible?”</p><p>“It is technically classed as a familiar,” she explained. “And anyway, we Westbrooks are afforded certain... privileges as a result of our unique heritage.”</p><p>“You mean your mother.”</p><p>“I mean before my mother,” Cathy said. “Our bloodline runs back further than you might think. In a way, what she did to this area was a natural consequence of the ideas of her parents and grandparents before her.”</p><p>“Your last name,” I said. “There’s a reason Patrick is a Westbrook and not a Morris.”</p><p>“Names have power,” she said. “A Westbrook is a Westbrook, a Riker is a Riker, and a Legere is a Legere.” That last bit while glaring at Luna.</p><p>“I’m glad I have more in common with my dad than with your family,” I said. “Complement accepted.”</p><p>“You’ve forgone my father’s name as well,” she said. “You are very much no longer a part of this family. I expect never to see you again after tomorrow.”</p><p>“I expect the same,” I told her, filling my words with invective. “And I hope you die here so that you rot in hell.”</p><p>“What is going <em> on </em> out here?” Uncle Mitch said, cutting things off as he stepped into the room. I had very much appreciated his interjections the last time I’d been here, but now his innocence posed a threat. I really hoped he hadn’t been listening in.</p><p>“Nothing that concerns you, Mitchell,” Aunt Cathy said, sounding annoyed. Mitch looked at me in askance.</p><p>“What she said, honestly,” I told him.</p><p>“Well,” Mitch said, looking at me and then at Aunt Cathy, then back again, “if you're done here, there's a game on. You two interested?”</p><p>“Maybe?” I said. I looked at Luna.</p><p>“Sure,” she said, looking grateful for the excuse to cut this conversation short. It was basically over anyway. I had wanted to know about Patrick and his kids, to know whether or not they were practitioners, but I supposed it wasn’t supremely important.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Several hours later, once we’d said our goodbyes, Luna and I got into my rental. We seemed to have an unspoken agreement that we would drive our respective cars. It was about 9PM, a reasonable time to get going. The game had been long and boring, and not exactly my thing, but seeing everyone else getting excited about it was enough to distract me from the worries that were gnawing at me. Every once in a while, I’d looked South with my Vision and made sure that Tilda and Peter were still alive and okay.</p><p>“Don’t worry about my car,” Luna said, as we headed out. “We can get it tomorrow. Faeries are generally atrocious at understanding technology, so I doubt they’ll mess with it. Left on the highway up here.” I made the turn.</p><p>“Sorry about Cathy,” I said. “I really meant what I said, that it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“I know,” she said, her voice soft. She didn’t comment further.</p><p>“I hope the rest of my family was okay. They’re not all bad. It’s mostly just her.”</p><p>“A friendly diabolist,” she said. “That was unexpected, I’ll say. I’m guessing their marriage was primarily a political one.”</p><p>“Judging by the fact that they have a single child, I think you’re right,” I said.</p><p>“Turn right up here,” she said, “then left onto Route 3.”</p><p>We drove in silence for a bit. We came up on the hamlet of Natural Bridge pretty quickly, and I recognized the road I had to turn onto before Luna pointed it out to me.</p><p>I began to turn down the driveway.</p><p>“Wait,” Luna said, reaching over and putting her hand on the wheel. I pulled to a stop.</p><p>She hopped out of the car and ran over to where several trees had fallen. A bit confused, I put the car into park and followed her.</p><p>I hadn’t noticed, but there was a trail of trees leading down the driveway that had fallen over. More than that, they looked like they’d been <em> crushed. </em> Massive sections of them were flattened against the ground unnaturally, the wood splintering out to the sides. The house wasn’t visible from up here.</p><p>“The house,” Luna said, running down the incline of the driveway. I jogged after her.</p><p>She saw it before I did, sinking to her knees and pulling her hair back from her face with both hands, tugging at it. A massive chunk had been taken out of the building, rubble spilling out onto the ground. It was the corner with the couch, a large vertical column missing that included both walls and part of the roof. The couch had been flattened as well, pillows torn apart and the frame completely mangled, the remnants dusted with plaster. I saw my backpack knocked over onto the floor, some of the contents spilling out. Part of the attic was exposed to the air, too.</p><p>“What the fuck!” Luna shouted. “What the motherfucking fuck!”</p><p>“What—what could have done this?” I said, at a complete loss. I walked down the rest of the driveway and kneeled behind Luna, putting a hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“Nothing that I can think of, except…” She went silent for a moment, staring vacantly at the house. “It’s gone,” she said, after a moment.</p><p>“What’s gone?” I asked, confused.</p><p>“There was a huge sleeping troll,” she said, anger rising in her voice, “living under one of the bridges over there. It’s gone. It’s <em> awake.” </em></p><p>“Oh,” I said, coming to the realization. Just before I’d gone to sleep, I’d noticed the thing under the bridge. “I think that might—I think I might have accidentally woken it up?”</p><p>“You <em> what?” </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 1.7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No,” Luna said, once I’d finished explaining as best I could. “There’s no way you woke it up just by using your Vision. Even if you did, it’s not your fault.”</p><p>“How big is this thing?” I asked. “I mean, the destruction it caused doesn’t seem proportional to what I saw. It was big, for sure, but not <em> that </em> big.”</p><p>“I… don’t know enough about trolls to say for sure,” Luna said, hesitantly. “But it looks like it didn’t break through into the basement, which is a good sign. We have some books on this stuff in the library. Ugh. Figures this would happen now.”</p><p>“Do you think there’s a chance it doesn’t come back?” I asked.</p><p>“I have no idea,” she said, irritation creeping into her voice. She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed something out. “We’ll be able to patch this up, but it’s going to take some time. Let’s take a look at those books before Sam gets back.”</p><p>I followed her inside, then immediately ran over to the side of the couch in order to make sure my bag was alright. The contents of the front pocket were spilled out across the floor: things like my deodorant, my meds, a few mechanical pencils, and my phone charger. Nothing looked like it had been damaged. I checked the back pocket and made sure my computer had been left untouched.</p><p>“Everything okay?” Luna asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” I said. “My bag seems to have been spared, thankfully.” I gathered up the items that had spilled out and put them back in the pocket, which I zipped up, then I dragged my bag over to the dining room table and set it on one of the chairs.</p><p>“We’re gonna need a new couch,” Luna commented.</p><p>“I thought you guys were gonna fix the damage.”</p><p>“I said we were going to patch it up,” she countered. “Temporary, just to keep the bugs out and stuff, until we can hire someone to do it properly.”</p><p>“Why can’t you use magic to just undo the damage?”</p><p>“That… would require chronomancy. Margot might know something about that, but I’d really rather not owe her.”</p><p>I rejoined Luna where she was standing at the top of the stairs and followed her down into the basement. The steps themselves were wooden boards spaced unevenly atop two parallel rails. Though Luna had turned on the lights, only three or four dim bulbs weakly flickered to life in response. It was a vast, dark space, filled with cardboard boxes and crates covered in red symbols I had never seen anything like before, intricate curvilinear runes that resembled plants, speckled with dots. I figured it was probably some old Faerie language. I wasn’t sure what written Iroquoian looked like, but I doubted this was it. Then again, it could have been literal aliens at this point for all I knew. That <em> was </em> the sort of vibe I got. Unless this script or scripts like this were the reason we’d gotten the idea in the first place that alien languages might look like that.</p><p>I followed Luna past the stacks of boxes into a smaller area under where I imagined the dining room might have been. The ceiling was higher than I had expected, a good five yards up at the least. A table saw and a workbench sat in the corner, hand and power tools strewn about across them. A pile of logs was stacked by a door roughly positioned somewhere under the kitchen. Luna pulled the door open and led me into</p><p>A surprisingly large, round space, the outer edges lined with a dark wooden bookshelf that matched the curve of the space exactly. Four additional shelves which were shorter and looked a fair bit cheaper sat in the middle of the room in two lines which were parallel to each other. A worn wicker saucer chair with a large red pillow sat between them towards the back. The floor was hardwood, stained a dark walnut brown. I knew because I’d considered an apartment with similarly toned hardwood when I’d been looking for somewhere to live out of college.</p><p>There weren’t very many books in the room, at least not enough to be anywhere close to filling the available shelf space. There were several shelves which had twenty to thirty books in a row, sometimes things in multiple volumes or parts, but there were also books in piles on top of the shelves in the center. There didn’t seem to be very much logic to how things were organized, no doubt due to the small number of books. I estimated there to be around three hundred in total, which I supposed might seem impressive on its face until one considered how little space ten books actually takes up.</p><p>Luna went straight for a shelf on the left side of the room and picked out two books, gently tossing one to me. I read the spine: <em> Darke Creatures 5th Ed., Peter Adias Reuben &amp; Dr. Giovanni S. Calabria </em>.</p><p>“I’ll try <em> On Brutes,” </em> Luna told me, showing me the other book she’d taken from the shelf. “See what you can get from that.”</p><p>I cracked it open and thumbed through the first few pages until I reached the first page with a proper book’s page worth of text, the “Foreword to the <em> Fifth Edition.” </em></p><p>⠀</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>The original <em> Darke Creatures</em>, penned by an anonymous author, was first printed in London in 1889. It served as an invaluable field guide to many late Victorian practitioners and was widely popular across Europe through the end of the century. Three subsequent editions were published periodically throughout the 20th century, expanding the breadth of the knowledge contained within, importantly broadening the geographical scope of the original work to include creatures which are not native to Europe. For instance, the section on Ogres was expanded to include a subsection on the East Asian Oni, as well as subsections on the North American Acuane and Dzoavits.</p>
  <p>By the Fourth Edition, the text had become significantly bloated due to a myriad of brief mentions of creatures with very little associated information or textual references. In spite of the well-organized Index and Table of Contents, this bloat caused many to complain that the text was impractical and perhaps at times a bit technical in its attempts at categorizing these outliers. Thus, in this newest edition of <em> Darke Creatures, </em>Dr. Calabria and I endeavour to bring this widely treasured classic into the 21st century by cutting out much of the unnecessary and often vaguely sourced information. We include only those creatures which have at least two distinct references in the literature which do not themselves reference this text. Hence, singular individual accounts are not considered tenable by the more rigorous standards of our book. We have relegated many of the more credible single-source accounts to Appendix B, along with mentions of those creatures which are popular in the folklore, yet whose existence is yet unverified, such as the chupacabra or the infamous “Mothman.”</p>
  <p>Furthermore, the validity of the information presented in prior editions has been checked against multiple unique, primary sources, and many errors have been discovered and corrected. We assert that it is incredibly reckless to include such mistakes in a handbook designed to aid practitioners in the field, including during hostile encounters. We cannot recommend, therefore, that an outdated version of this text be used in any serious practical capacity. A list of errata can be found in Appendix C.</p>
  <p>It is crucial to note that the categorization of Others is incredibly difficult and often arbitrary, which can lead to dangerous underestimation of creatures who do not fall neatly into these categories. This point will be an unofficial mantra of this text, frequently reiterated where it is salient. It would be grossly irresponsible of us not to oft remind the general reader, who is unlikely to lend particular credence to this introductory material. Many Others defy categorization, and some are half-breeds, leaving us in the unenviable position of needing to curate this disordered landscape and present the material we have compiled in a way which is simultaneously comprehensive and accessible. That is not to say that we are unhappy with what we have accomplished here; the many years of hard work and dedicated research that made this volume possible have, we think, very much paid off. I speak for both myself and my coauthor when I say that this was an extremely fulfilling process, and we have learned a lot from it, both as practitioners and as scholars.</p>
  <p>Of course, this work would not have been realized without the assistance of a great many individuals, in particular thanks to the indispensable efforts of researchers Jared Ogden and Nancy Carruth, who were instrumental to the—</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>“Listen to this,” Luna said, interrupting my reading. Good timing, because I was pretty sure the rest of the Foreword was just a bunch of acknowledgements. I turned the page and confirmed my suspicions. “The average American Troll is about 7.8 feet tall and 400 pounds, placing them in the near center of the range of sizes which brutes can grow to. Uh… skip a bit…” She turned the page. “The American Troll will often attach itself to the underside of a unique and/or manmade structure made of a solid, uniform material, such as a bridge or a statue, and go into long periods of hibernation. Compare this to the behavior of other Trolls, which live in dark places underneath bridges and houses. Be aware that American Trolls are unique in their ability to effectively flatten themselves against the bottom of their chosen structure, rendering them undetectable by non-magical means.</p><p>“Once an American Troll has chosen its home, it will return time and time again in order to sleep and eventually to re-enter hibernation. American Trolls need to sleep for roughly four hours every three nights and this figure can be used as a regular indicator of when an American Troll will return to its place of hibernation for a nap. Troll hunting efforts have been notably successful in North America due to this regularity, and there seems to be no shortage of American Trolls to hunt, which is believed to be due to Elbia’s Principle (though this is currently unconfirmed).” </p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“No idea,” she said, “but I guess we have our answer. The book goes on about how to bind and contain them, so I think we should be set. If it woke up last night…”</p><p>“Then it’ll be back the second night after the funeral, counting tomorrow night,” I said. “I can probably stay until then to help sort this out.”</p><p>“You find anything useful in your book?”</p><p>“Sorry,” I said, “I only got through the Foreword.”</p><p>“Not a big deal,” she said.</p><p>“Hey, what should I do if I met a creature and don’t know what it’s called?”</p><p>Luna narrowed her eyes at me.</p><p>“Are you asking hypothetically, or is this something that actually happened?”</p><p>“Something that happened,” I said. “A weird little green guy showed up and saved me from the faerie at the hotel. Really gross looking.”</p><p>“Sounds like a goblin,” Luna said. “That’s slightly alarming. Did you have a conversation with it?”</p><p>“Not very well,” I said. “My jaw was broken at the time.”</p><p>“Broken?”</p><p>“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. Sam patched me up.”</p><p>“That book has pictures in it. Flip through and see if you can see anything that looks like it.”</p><p>I reopened <em> Darke Creatures </em> and skimmed my way through the text, looking carefully at the artist’s rendition of each monster. The chapters were organized according to genre of creature, from fey to “atroxic” to ethereal to “cthrlonic,” which, I was surprised to find, had nothing to do with Cthulhu and everything to do with a specific kind of pseudo-necromancy. Changelings belonged to this category, as did Jersey Devils and Hellhounds.</p><p>There was some scary looking stuff out there. I wasn’t studying the images too carefully, but I spotted several things that appeared to be dragons, several other things with eyes in weird places, long serpentine bodies, and small gnome-like creatures with sharp teeth. One drawing I stopped on because of how much it scared me depicted a large balloon person floating off of the ground with wiry black hair, eyes and a mouth like deflated whoopee cushions, and claws like dried mango slices. Its face and torso were bulbous in the worst ways. It almost looked like something out of a cartoon, but everything else so far had looked extremely real. Maybe this was the best drawing of one they could get? <em> Boroboro, </em> read the title of the corresponding section. It was in the “vesperous” category, among giant insects and nosferatu. Once I learned that they were predominantly South American, I didn’t feel any particular inclination to read the rest of the entry.</p><p>I managed to make it to the end without finding anything on the exact creature I’d run into. Veelo, he’d said his name was. I checked the index at the back of the book and found nothing even remotely like that. I flipped back to the beginning and paged through the first few chapters again, a lot slower this time.</p><p>There it was, in the chapter on Fey, a drawing which looked very much like Veelo, only colored in a slightly tealer shade of green. I read the accompanying information:</p><p>⠀</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Gaboda (GAH-bow-dah) are often described as small, nude, blue-green humanoid fey with distinctively wide hips and smooth, featureless torsos. They are completely hairless, have wide mouths, nostrils which lie flat against their faces, and pointy ears. They are extremely rare and typically live in moderate, humid areas, especially along the U.S. Canadian and France-Spain borders. Some have reportedly been sighted as far east as Mongolia, though these reports have not been verified.</p>
  <p>For the most part, Gaboda are peaceful, solitary individuals, and can be found living in forest clearings, preying on small wildlife. However, they will occasionally appear to practitioners and ask for favors in exchange for acts of goodwill. These favors can range anywhere from relatively harmless to highly dangerous or destructive, and it is recommended that practitioners who encounter a Gaboda do not even engage in conversation with it. Refusing to engage with a Gaboda will most likely cause it to lose interest and leave, whereas explicitly denying a Gaboda its desired favor may cause it to become aggressive and attack.</p>
  <p>Gaboda are vicious predators, and can move incredibly quickly with a high level of agility. They are exceedingly intelligent, and though they have a uniformly poor command of human speech, they often speak elvish and faerie tongues quite proficiently (they are an interesting case study in our understanding of the differences in morphology between languages). Gaboda have long, retractable claws which function like blades, earning them the colloquial title of “Green Wolverines,” after the Marvel superhero.</p>
  <p>Not much is known about the life cycle of the Gaboda, except that they are able to sense others of their species from dozens of miles away and that they tend to live nomadically, settling down in one location for a year or two before moving elsewhere. Considering the life expectancy of other similar fey, it would seem that Gaboda live for anywhere from fifty to eighty years before dying of old age. As far as we are aware, they reach sexual maturity within their first year of life and remain sexually viable until death [?].</p>
  <p>Unfortunately, much of our information on Gaboda is incomplete at best and contradictory at worst. Due to their rarity and ingenuity, it is difficult to find and study them systematically. Gaboda are tricksters by their nature, and so they are difficult to bind or capture, being wise to the majority of the tricks employed in these attempts.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>“Dammit,” I muttered, clenching my fist. I hadn’t known not to talk to it. I could only hope now that the favor it asked of me was one of the more harmless ones. It hadn’t specified when I was to seek it out. I supposed I could leave it for much later, perhaps even years down the road. That was assuming I didn’t die, but in that case an unkept promise would be the least of my worries. Something to think about later.</p><p>I was glad to know what the thing was, at least. It seemed a lot less threatening now than it had when the faerie had run away from it.</p><p>“It was a Gaboda,” I said to Luna, who was still looking through the same book.</p><p>“I’ve heard of those,” she said. “Sounds like a chance encounter. You’re lucky to be alive.”</p><p>“Yeah,” I said. “That’s definitely how it felt. I managed to trick the faerie out of his magic, but he still beat me up pretty bad.” I showed her my arm, pulling the sleeve of her shirt up to my shoulder.</p><p>“Ouch,” she said, grimacing. “Sorry I didn’t stay behind to fight him instead. I don’t really know what I was thinking.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” I said. “I can bear it for the night, in case you and Sam need to focus on rebuilding.” Luna frowned.</p><p>“I think we’ll be able to help,” she said. “Sam was only so exhausted last night because we spent most of the morning fucking around out back.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said. “I figured it was because of the ritual.”</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>I heard footsteps from upstairs.</p><p>“Sam must be back,” I said.</p><p>We headed back through the basement, still carrying our books, and climbed up the stairs.</p><p>“Sam?” Luna called, once we had reached the top. The climb had been tough, the steps a little steeper than I’d remembered them being on the way down, and I was left mildly winded.</p><p>There was no response. I looked out the window. No other cars in sight. Immediately, I went for the pen in my pocket, then remembered that I had changed. My jeans were still where I’d left them on the bathroom floor.</p><p>Luna moved towards the dining room and I followed. She stopped when she reached the kitchen doorway.</p><p>“Alan,” she said.</p><p>A man emerged from the kitchen, hands raised in surrender. He had a wild look about him, almost like he was intoxicated. He was gaunt, with thin, disheveled brown hair, hazel eyes, and he wore a white butcher’s smock over his shirt, almost like scrubs. He was smiling, a placid faraway look in his eyes.</p><p>“I saw the hole,” he said. “A shame, that, but it does mean anyone can enter.”</p><p>“It’s still my demesne,” Luna retorted. “You have no right to be here without my explicit consent.”</p><p>The man ignored her. “And who is this?” he asked, eyeing me curiously. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”</p><p>“This is Jamie,” Luna said. “Aubrey’s great-grandchild.”</p><p>“Ah,” he said. “I suppose that name can go either way. I was hoping for a gender cue. Never can tell these days.”</p><p>“That’s fine,” I said flatly.</p><p>“Interesting,” he said, though he seemed distracted. “Well, Jamie of the Westbrooks, I’m Alan Muscovy. Something of a local merchant. You need a special implement? I’ve got you covered. Pixie dust? I have more than you know.” He procured a small elliptical business card from his hand like a magician, and held it out for me to take.</p><p>I hesitantly accepted. If nothing else, it was something to draw runes on.</p><p>“Get out of my house,” Luna said, angry.</p><p>“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, raising his hands over his head again. He stepped past us into the living room, headed for the hole. “Nasty business with the troll.” And he was gone. I looked to see if he was walking up the driveway, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around. He’d just disappeared.</p><p>“Aughhhh,” Luna groaned in frustration from the kitchen. I ran over to see what had happened. “He took the goddamn vessel!”</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>“The vessel! It looked like a metal butter dish?”</p><p>I vaguely remembered something like that. “What was it for?”</p><p>“Power reserve,” she said. “Enough to knock the Queen out three times over. I was going to bring it to the funeral tomorrow.”</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“Fucking Alan. Guy’s a literal slave owner.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Where do you think he gets all his pixie dust? He trafficks in them.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said. I pulled out his business card and looked it over. <em> Alan Muscovy’s Pixie Emporium, </em> it read. “I don’t know anything about pixies—”</p><p>“Tiny humans with wings. Incredibly harmless.”</p><p>“—but that sounds pretty messed up,” I finished.</p><p>“That’s an understatement.”</p><p>“Add that to the list of things we should probably deal with before I leave,” I said.</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Luna said, shaking her head. “Fairy dust is incredibly dangerous. He uses it like cocaine. It fucks with human minds, makes people act psychotic, but it also makes him super powerful. At this point, he’s more fey than he is human. In terms of threat level, he’s up there with Jaswan. Maybe even worse.”</p><p>“Damn,” I said, taking a moment to consider that. “Yeah, he seemed like he was on something.”</p><p>“I doubt he’s ever sober anymore,” Luna said. “He’s the kind of guy where if you try to fight him he’ll transport you into a special realm of his own design where he’s much stronger and you’re much weaker. No chance in <em> hell </em> we can take him on and win.”</p><p>A few minutes stretched by in silence.</p><p>“Where is Sam?” I asked. “I still need your numbers, by the way.”</p><p>“Oh yeah. Sorry,” Luna said, putting her number into my phone then texting me Sam’s. “He was doing some research on faeries at the professor’s place. He’s probably walking home from Margot’s right now.”</p><p>“Right,” I said. “I forgot that he borrowed her car.”</p><p>“I don’t blame you,” she said. “There’s been a lot going on since your grandma died. The deal she made gave her a ton of power and influence, and as long as she was alive everything was pretty quiet, mostly because people were afraid of her. Lots of shit stirring beneath the surface that’s all starting to come to a head now. Like a bottle of soda being shaken, and now the cap’s come off.”</p><p>“What do you think Cathy’s plan is to deal with all the… bubbles?”</p><p>“You heard her yourself,” Luna said. “She’s grown complacent thanks to the power she wields.”</p><p>“If Jaswan shows up tomorrow, Cathy will have lied.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Luna said. “As long as she believed it at the time, it still counts as true. There aren’t any spirits around to hear, so the rules are more lenient.”</p><p>“Or,” I said, thinking through some things on my own, “she doesn’t believe it, but she’s thinking she can alter history so that Jaswan doesn’t show at all.”</p><p>“I don’t know if her power works like that,” Luna said, sounding uncertain. “That sounds incredibly overpowered.”</p><p>“You said her mother was powerful. I think it’s reasonable to imagine that she might be too.”</p><p>“Sure, but what you’re suggesting is on another level entirely. Not even Chronomancers can do stuff like that.”</p><p>“She told me she could undo my Awakening,” I said. “You were there, you heard her say that. There’s no way she was lying.”</p><p>“She might actually be able to lie,” Luna said, after a moment’s pause. “I don’t know all the details of the deal.”</p><p>“You keep saying that, that my great-grandma made a deal. I thought you were speaking in metaphor when you said that the first time. Who did she make a deal with?”</p><p>“I… don’t want to tell you,” she said, looking away. Something about the way she’d said it… </p><p>“Was it your mother?” I asked, as gently as I could.</p><p>“I’m not comfortable discussing that,” she said again, and with that she left me standing in the dining room. I didn’t follow her. She hadn’t denied it, which I supposed was a sort of tacit confirmation, though I couldn’t be certain. I wondered what the story was, there. Big surprise that Aunt Cathy was a massive hypocrite.</p><p>I took a seat at the table and pulled out my phone. I’d received a message a few minutes ago from a college friend who lived in New York City, a guy named Dylan.</p><p>
  <em> lol, you seeing the news? </em>
</p><p><em> no, </em> I typed. <em> sorry, things are kinda crazy right now, i’ll have to text you later </em></p><p>I got a response almost immediately. <em> everything ok? </em></p><p>Did lying via text count? Probably. I wasn’t about to take any chances.</p><p>
  <em> not rly. im upstate for my great grandmas funeral... apparently a lot of people really hated her </em>
</p><p>I heard a distant yet loud “holy shit.” <em> sorry, </em> I texted. <em> gotta go. </em></p><p>I headed outside to meet Sam and Ezrul, who were just now coming down the driveway.</p><p>“Trolls don’t stay in hibernation forever,” Ezrul was saying.</p><p>“Hey,” I called out to them. “You guys wanna go troll hunting?”</p><p>“Not tonight, hopefully,” Sam said.</p><p>“Not tonight,” I agreed. “A troll will go back to its bridge every three days to take a nap. That’s probably the best time to do this.”</p><p>“That gives us some time to prepare,” Sam said. They’d made it to the house at this point. They entered, surveying the damage to the interior. </p><p>“You guys missed some stuff,” I said, closing the door behind me and turning off the porch light. “We got a nice visit from the fairy dust guy.”</p><p>“Pixie dust guy,” Luna said, correcting me. She emerged from the bedroom, wearing a different shirt, hair now tied back and out of her face. “Alan stopped by to meet Jamie and also steal the spirit vessel.”</p><p>“Damn,” Sam said. “Why did you let him in?”</p><p>“Um,” Luna said, gesturing at the gaping hole in the corner of the house. “I didn’t?”</p><p>“Oh,” Sam said. “I feel stupid now. I was actually thinking about the vessel on the way up. Would’ve been a good security measure for the funeral.”</p><p>“I don’t think you two are invited,” Ezrul pointed out. “And I doubt Mister Astrid is going to be particularly happy to see you either.”</p><p>“We can hang out in the car, if necessary,” Luna said.</p><p>“The car’s all the way back in Watertown,” Sam said.</p><p>“I’m talking about Jamie’s rental. I still don’t believe that the Queen won’t capitalize on the opportunity, given that all the Westbrooks will be gathered in one location outside of their demesne. That’s prime hunting grounds. There’s a lot of faeries willing to die for her, and there’s a ton of division among the human practitioners. Cathy’s family, us, the professor, the Behaims? I think Alister’s coming down from up north.”</p><p>“We met him when we returned the car,” Sam confirmed. “I think he’s just here to back up his cousin. It’s not like he has any respects to pay to the dead.” For my benefit he added: “He’s the head of the family. Time magic and divination.”</p><p>“Good to know,” I said. “It sounds like other people are also worried about an attack.”</p><p>“I admit that it’s likely,” Ezrul said, “though nobody is exactly sure how Catherine will act now that she’s the family matriarch. She’ll probably have her wight stationed somewhere outside of Jaswan’s palace.”</p><p>“A wight?” Sam asked. He and Luna looked equally puzzled at this.</p><p>“Ah, apologies,” the cat rumbled, sounding amused. “Mister Morris’ wedding gift to his wife was an undead familiar, which was freed from its mortal form upon the eve of her mother’s… <em> deal. </em> The only true ghost left in the area.”</p><p>“How do you know about that?” Luna asked him.</p><p>“To be a familiar is…” Ezrul began, then paused. “Well, I will at least say that I’m privy to certain information about other familiars. I will also say that I was there to see the wight before it transformed. This was only about twenty years ago, mind you.”</p><p>“When I was born,” Luna said, her expression stony. “Thank you for the reminder.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Ezrul said. “I think it’s a relevant detail.”</p><p>“You’re only twenty?” I asked, a little surprised.</p><p>“Yep,” she said. “My birthday’s in August.”</p><p>“So you… just turned twenty? You look older than that.”</p><p>“How old are you, then?” she asked.</p><p>“Twenty-two,” I said. “And my birthday’s in December.”</p><p>“I’m twenty-six,” Sam said, “if anyone cared to know.”</p><p>“I’m eighty-nine,” Ezrul chimed in.</p><p>“Of course you are,” I said. I felt a lot more comfortable taking point now that I knew Luna was younger than me. In retrospect, she’d made some mistakes that I doubted an older practitioner would have made, like leaving me to fight Clark on my own. “Look, game plan is we show up early tomorrow, we make sure all of the practitioners are ready for a surprise attack. If Cathy doesn’t want you guys there, you sit outside and keep watch. If anything happens, obviously, don’t hesitate to come back inside. You don’t have to be invited in, do you?”<br/><br/>“Only if it’s a demesne,” Sam said. “The funeral home is not Astrid’s demesne.”</p><p>“Okay,” I said. “I think that makes sense, then. Anything specific we can do to prepare?”</p><p>“Well for one,” Sam said, “we should probably patch this massive fucking hole in the side of our house. People shouldn’t be able to just walk in here and steal our stuff, that’s fucked up. Especially if it’s Alan.”</p><p>“Agreed,” I said. “Anything else?”</p><p>“Did Luna heal the rest of your injuries?” Sam asked.</p><p>“No. Good point.” I’d totally forgotten about the three seperate burns I’d endured. There had been other, more pressing issues.</p><p>“We should probably teach you some more about Shamanism,” Sam said. “Wards are important. Maybe that’s something to focus on.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said. “Before I forget. That Aztec trickster god saved my ass from that fairy, probably more so than the Gaboda.”</p><p>“You met a Gaboda?” Ezrul asked, sounding interested. “How did that go?”</p><p>“I have no idea what that is or what you’re talking about,” Sam said. “Any chance you could catch me up?”</p><p>“We can talk while we work,” I said. “We want to build a wood scaffolding or something?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It took us a few hours to patch up the wall, a process which involved less magic than I’d hoped it would. The final result was pretty janky, and the hole in the attic did not end up getting repaired, though apparently there wasn’t actually a way to get up there from inside the house, so it didn’t really matter as long as nothing moved in.</p><p>Luna healed my burns before we got to work, which left me feeling pretty good. I noticed that magical healing gave me an extra kick of energy, which I appreciated, though it seemed to have an equal and opposite effect on Luna. I wondered how the physics of magic worked. Was it a force, maybe? Something that interacted with dark matter? Dark matter and dark energy would make a lot of sense as undetectable to regular humans if they were a Vision thing.</p><p>Sam explained to me how wards worked. Different kinds of wards detected different things, and some worked like semi-permeable membranes, letting certain things in while keeping others out. Most of them weren’t hard to break, but doing so required being familiar with Shamanism, so stupider Others were generally warded off pretty consistently. We found the incantation to protect against trolls and spoke it together, each of us giving up a portion of our magic to make sure the house would be safe if the troll did in fact come back this way. I could only hope that no one else got seriously hurt or killed in the meantime. Did they hunt humans? Luna said no, but I worried nonetheless.</p><p>It was almost 2 in the morning when we finished, and my exhaustion finally started to catch up with me during the final stretch. I’d been fueled by adrenaline up until that point, between the hotel fight, being in Aunt Cathy’s presence, and now this thing with the troll. I wasn’t sure where I was going to sleep, given that the couch had been decimated.</p><p>“I’m your girlfriend,” Luna joked. “You can sleep in my bed.”</p><p>“Absolutely not. Not in my fucking room,” Sam said.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” I said, smiling. “She’s too young for me anyway.” Luna scoffed at that.</p><p>“There’s a blowup mattress downstairs,” Sam said. “We can get that set up for you.”</p><p>“That sounds good,” I said. “Thanks.”</p><p>Sam and Ezrul headed down into the basement, while Luna put together a plate of pretzels and cookies for us. Some peanut butter too, to dip the pretzels in, once she’d checked that I wasn’t allergic.</p><p>We sat on the floor in the living room and ate in silence for a bit.</p><p>“I don’t think I really got a chance to thank you,” I said. “For all this, for letting me stay with you.”</p><p>“You definitely had the chance, you just didn’t think to,” she said, snidely. “Careful about lying.”</p><p>“I mean it,” I said. “I really appreciate it. You didn’t need to help me out as much as you have.”</p><p>“It’s… I don’t want to say it’s nothing,” Luna said, “or that it’s not a big deal, because I don’t think that would come across right. But I like you. I understand your situation here, really, more than you know. Imagine being thrust into all of this as a twelve year old, with only your older brother for guidance. Hell, I’m still not really used to being a practitioner. It’s exhausting and terrifying, all of the time.” I tried to imagine what eight years of this sort of thing would be like.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really can’t imagine. I feel lost and confused and I’m a fully grown adult.”</p><p>“You get used to it quickly in some respects,” she admitted. “But I really wish I didn’t know. And I hate that you’ve been dragged into this now too.”</p><p>“I mean…” I paused. “In a way I would hate not knowing about this. I’m not seriously considering Cathy’s offer, by the way, if she can actually do something like that, altering my history. Setting aside the danger for a sec, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in a long time. It changes everything fundamentally, and I can’t help but keep thinking about the physics of it. Maybe that’s just because I have a degree in math, but I honestly can’t imagine not wondering about the laws of the universe once magic is a thing that enters the equation.”<br/>“You have a degree in math?” Luna asked me.</p><p>“Yeah. I’m going for at least a masters, maybe a PhD. I… think that being a practitioner might complicate things, though. I really haven’t thought about what I’ll do when I go back home. Maybe I’ll just… try to get in good with the local powers and live a non-threatening existence as a magical researcher.”</p><p>“I’ll introduce you to the professor tomorrow,” Luna said. “You’ll like him, I think. He’s a little bit out there but he’s really smart and I bet he’ll appreciate the math thing.”</p><p>I nodded. “What do you mean by ‘out there’?”</p><p>“He thinks the public have a right to know about magic.”</p><p>“That… sounds like a perfectly reasonable position to take,” I said. “It’s how I felt, being introduced to all this.”</p><p>“Nobody who isn’t a practitioner should have to exist as one,” Luna countered.</p><p>“But if everyone’s a practitioner, then there isn’t as much pressure on a small number of individuals. It’ll spread out the responsibility, make it easier on everybody. And imagine what science could do if fused with magic. We’d be meeting aliens tomorrow!”</p><p>“That’s called Technomancy,” Luna said. “You know who’s a Technomancer? Fucking Alan Muscovy, Pixie vendor.”</p><p>“That doesn’t mean the whole thing’s bunk,” I objected.</p><p>“Excuse me if I think that arming ordinary people with nuclear capabilities is a terrible idea. You know how fast shit travels on the internet? Everyone would become a potential terrorist overnight.”</p><p>“Hang on,” I said. “Why <em> isn’t </em> there anything about this on the internet?”</p><p>“There’s a statute,” she said. “The US has its own magical government, and they can sense when info goes up online. It’s a criminal offense.”</p><p>“Interesting,” I said, turning to watch as Sam and Ezrul returned from the basement. Ezrul hopped up onto the broken couch and roosted on the arm.</p><p>“Here you go,” Sam said, unrolling the mattress. He set an air pump down next to it and connected the tube.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” I said. “I got it.”</p><p>“No no,” Sam said. “You’re the guest.” I didn’t argue, allowing him to pump the mattress full of air. Luna returned from the bedroom with some sheets, a pillow, and a blanket and we made the bed together. Once we were finished, I sat on the mattress and set my alarm for 8 the next morning.</p><p>“Alright,” Sam said, yawning. “Good night. Luna, you going to bed too?”</p><p>“I think so,” she said. “I’m pretty tired.”</p><p>“Good night,” I told them, then pulled off my jeans and settled in once they’d disappeared around the corner.</p><p>I didn’t fall asleep immediately, so I took a moment to respond to Dylan.</p><p><em> yeah i heard from katie. </em> he’d said. <em> wth do you mean by that? are people bothering you because of something your family did? thats fucked up man. we should talk at some point, i want to hear about this. </em></p><p><em> sorry, </em> I typed. <em> might need to explain in person. </em> I left it at that, looking through social media until I felt tired enough to pass out. At that point, I double checked my alarm, set another one a half hour early just in case, then tossed it gently some distance away and shut my eyes.</p><p>Sleep took me swiftly. I didn’t dream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Interlude 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Edvard Swargast spit a small wad of chewing gum out onto the icy plain and grunted, pushing it over to one side with his boot.</p><p>“Idiot,” she hissed at him, kicking him lightly in the side of the leg. She crouched down even lower so that she was completely concealed by the large rock that jutted out of the tundra. “They’ll know we’ve been here if they see that.”</p><p>“They'll know we’ve been here once Alicia uses her Sight,” Edvard said. “We should get going soon. I think we’ve gotten everything that we can.” He was short and stout and wore a black eyepatch, which gave off a striking impression when paired with his scraggly beard. He’d begun to more fully embrace the pirate aesthetic after he’d lost his eye, arguing that he had the name to match. It was a pretty common occurrence for one of his friends to affectionately refer to him as ‘Redbeard.’ Kind of an unusual nickname, given that he wasn't a ginger.</p><p>“Hey,” she said suddenly, taking a quick peek out over the top of the rock, “is that guy headed our way?”</p><p>“Uhh...” Edvard unfolded a small spyglass he had tucked away in his coat and looked out around the side of the rock. “There’s two of them, actually. One of them’s the practitioner.”</p><p>“Shit,” she said, “they’ve definitely seen us. I’ll take her on, you take the guy.”</p><p>“Roxy,” a female voice called out. “You think I wouldn’t spot you immediately? Come out from behind there. The pirate too.”</p><p>Slowly, cautiously, they stood, temporarily leaving the cover of the rock. Edvard drew his cutlass from its scabbard at his left hip and pointed it at the oncoming pair, assuming a defensive stance. Roxy stood as well, taking off her necklace as she did, a small trinket consisting of a single black bead that slid along interlocking silver chain links. She held it out in front of her as if it were a rosary.</p><p>“Alicia,” she said, coolly. “You wanna explain to me why you’re building a fortress out here?”</p><p>“What do you care?” the other woman asked. She had a slender frame, accentuated by her black latex bodysuit which defied the freezing temperatures. No doubt she had enchanted it to keep her warm. Her hair was tied back in a neat black ponytail, which drew attention to her smooth, dark brown skin, her angular facial features, her strong jawline.</p><p>The guy who was with her, on the other hand, was wearing a heavy winter jacket, the same as all the people assisting with the building project, even though there were large bonfires set up around the area to prevent the equipment from malfunctioning due to the cold. It was hard to make out what the guy looked like under the hood. He was armed like an American cop, a gun in one hand and another at his belt.</p><p>“I <em> don’t </em> care, frankly,” Roxy answered, “but the president does.”</p><p>“God save his fat technocrat ass,” Alicia spat. “How about you leave right now and tell him to go fuck himself, or my buddy here’ll shoot you for daring to spy on us. Tell him that part too.”</p><p>“You want us to tell the president that you’re threatening to assassinate him?”</p><p>“No. Tell him that if he sends anyone else out here I’ll shove a ‘Cain’ up his ‘Magn-ass.’” Cain Magnus: that was the name of the Canadian President of the Practice, for better or for worse, for worse because it made jokes at his expense unfairly easy. Roxy had heard that one at least a dozen times before. It hadn’t been very funny the first time she’d heard it, and it wasn’t any funnier now.</p><p>“I’m not going to tell him anything that isn’t a straight answer from you,” she said. “This project is a massive drain on state resources.”</p><p>“Yeah? Why don’t they defund me then?”</p><p>“Dumbass,” Roxy said angrily. “Otherwise you would artificially inflate the economy by conjuring your own money. A third grader could explain—”</p><p>She was cut off by the loud whooshing noise of a propeller, and then a gunshot went off, followed by a sharp ping as the bullet hit a solid wheel of metal. She jumped at the noise, or rather, the collection of noises, which more or less occurred all at once. It took her a moment to realize that the propeller she’d heard was actually a spinning blade. It was Edvard's sword, which had left his hands to float in front of him and rapidly spin in a circle, blocking the bullet by causing it to ricochet. Anticipating a second shot aimed at her, she ducked to one side, using her necklace to cover the immediate area in a tall column of thick black fog that only she was able to see through. She could hear the guy shout in alarm, and some other shouts in the distance as people noticed the cloud of darkness.</p><p>Roxy grabbed Edvard’s arm and pulled him back as the guy with the gun fired off several more shots indiscriminately, though none of them hit anything. She was more worried about Alicia’s Sight, which she was scarily adept at utilizing in a fight. No doubt the darkness would only slow her down.</p><p>Roxy watched as Alicia flipped her implement into the air and caught it on the back of her hand. It was a domino that produced random effects depending on what numbers came up, effectively the same as rolling two twelve-sided dice, with the added potential for zeroes. Maybe thirteen-sided dice, then? The higher the sum total, the more powerful the effect. She hoped Alicia wasn’t able to see the result in the dark, not that it mattered.</p><p>She felt the ground rumble a bit as she dragged Edvard out of the darkness, which she’d positioned so it was centered around the gunman. The suddenness of the rumbling caused her to lose her footing and slip on a patch of ice, knocking her onto her butt. Edvard was quick to offer assistance, but before he could reach her hand, the ground rumbled again and a titanic beige worm the width of a human torso shot out of the permafrost then towered above them, baring its huge maw with teeth like a lamprey. As the pirate stared up at the creature in shock and horror, Roxy used his outstretched hand to pull herself to her feet and begin sprinting full tilt back towards the hill behind which they’d parked. Edvard didn’t hesitate to follow.</p><p>The creature dove back into the ground, breaking through the soil and permafrost cleanly, as though it were water or sand. Veins stood out against the thing’s body, and different sections of it throbbed with muscles or organs as it snaked out of the ground through one hole and back into it through a different one. She felt it weaving back and forth under where they were running, then it emerged again in front of them, blocking their escape route and stopping them dead in their tracks. Turning around, Roxy saw Alicia emerging from the darkness, the gunman right behind her.</p><p>Edvard sent his sword at the worm, aiming for its mouth. It was probably blind, since there were no eyes to aim for. It dodged the blade and bent down towards them, a spot of drool dripping down from its open mouth. The sword boomeranged around and stabbed directly into the “head” of the thing from behind, causing it to emit an unearthly screeching noise and rear backwards, trying to dislodge the sword. Viscous black chunks of goo spattered the ground as it writhed in pain.</p><p>Roxy, however, was more focused on the human threat, the pair that was headed their way at the pace of a light jog. The gunman held his gun out with both hands, aiming at them. She saw Alicia flip the domino a second time, and in response she used her necklace again, shooting a pair of hard black projectiles their way, inky blobs which impacted before Alicia’s implement landed, punching her in the gut and knocking her to the ground. The gunman, on the other hand, absorbed the force of the impact somehow, firing his gun in response. He wasn’t a very good shot, it seemed, because the bullet punched through the front of the flailing worm and caused it to topple. It hit the ground with a thud that sent another shockwave across the ground, driving the sword up through its mouth and into the other side of its jaw.</p><p>Alicia started to get to her feet, but Roxy sent another pair of projectiles at them and knocked her over before she could retrieve her implement. The gunman also took the hit this time, maybe because he was closer to them, and he keeled over, falling to his knees and clutching at his stomach.</p><p>“Run,” she said, then darted in the direction of the car before any of them could recover. Edvard followed, controlling his sword so that it slid out of the worm’s head and across the ground towards him, wiping the gore off of both sides onto the snow. The worm made a weak noise as the sword left its body, then slowly began to stir after a few moments had passed.</p><p>“Fuck you!” Alicia screamed after them. A chunk of the hill between them and their getaway rose up in a crude wall maybe nine or ten feet tall, a last ditch effort on their adversary’s part to thwart their escape. A shame for her that she’d rolled so low. Roxy and Edvard easily passed around the wall, which ironically blocked the gunman’s line of sight, then sped off down the path to the road as soon as they were in the car.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“This is the first I’m hearing of a variety of Mongolian death worm adapted to the Canadian tundra,” mused Cain Magnus, an ex-military practitioner who had first risen to prominence in the early 2000s when he’d single-handedly taken out the diabolist terror organization Immortels Diabolique.  Commonly referred to as ‘the id,’ they gained infamy among practitioners across the continent for their pattern of unleashing demons in crowded civilian areas in exchange for implements, power, and their titular immortality. Cain had gutted their operations by killing their very mortal leader—apparently, demonic immortality was not a complete package. For this act, he had been hailed as a national hero and would eventually go on to become President of the Practice, an office he’d held for the past nine years.</p><p>He was a stony-faced, hard-to-read man, not one to smile very often. Not particularly empathetic either, but he made reasonable, moral judgements and had some significant accomplishments under his belt. A good president, if not the best of men. He had short blond hair, bright blue eyes, and strangely pointy ears that made him look like a faerie, or an elf maybe. </p><p>“Russian, if I had to guess,” Roxy responded, “but with all due respect, sir, I doubt that’s very important.”</p><p>“Hmm. It isn’t,” Cain admitted, then he got up from his desk in a way that suggested he’d been seated for a while. The two men who had been standing guard behind him got out of his way and scooted along the wall off to the side. The president crossed his arms over his chest and began to pace between his desk and bookshelf. “So you weren’t able to determine the objective of this building project?”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>“Don’t bother with the ‘sirs,’” he said.</p><p>“Sure,” Roxy said. She stood a little straighter. “I imagine she’s also aware of the criminal charges you guys could bring against her for abusing the SFA. She insulted you when I tried to broach the subject.”</p><p>“We’re in a better financial position than we were when the bill was drafted,” the president said. “I’m much more concerned about the <em> why </em> of it. She isn’t stupid enough to seriously believe she’ll be safe from federal agents, so I doubt she’s planning something with technomancy or diabolism while we have our eyes on her.”</p><p>“She might be stupid enough.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be speaking in certainties if I wasn’t certain,” he said. “I’ve known her for longer than you have.”</p><p>“I know,” Roxy said. “Fair enough. Were your augurs able to figure anything out?”</p><p>“Not about Miss Alicia, no,” Cain said, still pacing. He stretched, rolling his shoulders back with several audible cracks. He was in his late fifties at this point, and she knew that he was struggling with chronic neck and back pain. “There is, however, a situation developing in the Westbrook Exclusion Zone.”</p><p>“A situation?” Roxy wasn’t sure she saw the connection.</p><p>“You’re aware that Alicia has children,” he said, making it a statement. He stopped pacing and looked at her, clearly expecting a response.</p><p>“I heard about that, yes. Wasn’t that the whole reason she came to Montreal? Sorry, I don’t know the whole story.”</p><p>“Two children, artificially brought to term, born to her by two of the many men she assaulted. We would have extradited her if she hadn’t helped against the ID.”</p><p>“Damn,” Roxy said, processing that. It was unnerving now to reconsider the lengths she had gone to in her attempts to be friendly and civil with Alicia. “A serial rapist, huh? And how did I not know about this?”</p><p>“I think it would have made it difficult to work with her,” Cain said.</p><p>“Yes it would have,” she said, “but it's kind of fucked up that you didn't tell me, and I’m kind of angry now.”</p><p>“I’d say that’s a good thing, as long as you can take that anger and turn it into compassion for her victims, especially for her kids.” The tone of the conversation had shifted. She knew that something was up now. There was a reason he’d turned the conversation away from what seemed to be a fairly pressing issue, the matter of a fortress being built up north.</p><p>“You’re… are you trying to suggest that you’re planning on sending us to America?”</p><p>“No,” he said, “I’m suggesting that <em> you, </em> Roxane, will be stationed in America. Alone.”</p><p>She felt a knot in her stomach as she absorbed the implications of that. There was a second distinction he had made, the choice of the word <em> ‘stationed.’ </em> A long term position, far away from home. “What—what about my partner?”</p><p>“The augurs informed me that their divination was very specific and clear that your dual presence in the exclusion zone would lead to even greater catastrophe. Less clear was the precise reason for this. Regardless, Mister Swargast stays here.”</p><p>“And… what exactly is the problem? Is it, you know, the Westbrook lady? Ding, dong?” She could barely keep the tremor out of her voice.</p><p>“No, the witch isn’t dead, not yet,” he said, shaking his head. He ceased pacing entirely and returned to his desk. “On that front you can rest assured.”</p><p>“Then—”</p><p>“The situation is this: the local faerie queen has put out a hit on Alicia’s children, one of whom is currently only 15 years old.”</p><p>“Ah,” Roxy said, suddenly understanding. “That’s bad.”</p><p>“Very,” the president responded. “Worse than you know. They intercepted a shipment of… let’s say contraband, which is simultaneously the reason for the hit and a massive potential problem should the Legere demesne fall.”</p><p>“Contraband,” Roxy repeated. “Like, drugs? Explosives?”</p><p>“I only know what my augurs have told me, unfortunately. Whatever was included in the shipment, it’s unique enough that the queen is unable to source it from elsewhere.”</p><p>“How did these kids even know about this?”</p><p>“Unclear,” Cain said, folding his hands together on his desk and hunching over, suddenly looking very tired. Not that she hadn’t noticed his exhaustion while she’d given her report, but the conversation seemed to be taking something out of him. That was really worrying, actually. Certainly, being the president of magical Canada, he wouldn’t be performing very much magic personally, but it didn’t bode well that she, a middling practitioner with no familiar, no demesne, and an exceptionally weak implement, was fairly sure she could take him on in a one-on-one right now even accounting for his considerable power and experience. “Ask them yourself when you arrive. The point that was repeatedly emphasized to me was that the queen must not be successful. Otherwise, she will become a major threat, and Alicia Legere will become aware of our failure.”</p><p>“Terrorists on both fronts.”</p><p>“Yes,” Cain said. “Yes, they would likely evolve into terrorist threats. They are both highly volatile individuals. And once we have managed to deal with Alicia, I suspect that the queen will have taken over Toronto, at least, and perhaps also New York City. The threat will be insurmountable.”</p><p>“Why does it feel,” she said, “like everything is constantly on the brink of collapse these days?”</p><p>“Because, Miss Arland, we are only delaying the inevitable.”</p><p>“Scary thing to hear from a man with a small army of fortune tellers.”</p><p>Cain gave her a rare knowing smile, but said nothing in response.</p><p><em> Man, </em> she thought to herself, <em> we’re all fucked. </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Behind me!” Roxy shouted over the deafening roar of the purple flames that encircled them and established the dimensions of their arena. Without waiting for a response, she angled her necklace upwards and shot out two inky black jets which merged together several feet above them and drifted towards their opponents, a duo of older faeries. Luna, for her part, was trying to extinguish the flames by producing a stream of water from the tip of her wand, but the water didn’t seem to be particularly efficacious against the glamour-infused blaze. She didn’t hesitate to scramble behind Roxy at the first possible opportunity.</p><p>The faerie who wasn’t maintaining the fire pulled out a longsword and swung it by the handle in a complicated figure eight that first crossed in front of his body, then behind it, switching hands twice in the process. Faeries were all about the show of power, the illusion of strength. If the dextrous maneuver was an intimidation tactic, it was certainly effective. Instead of approaching, however, the faerie jammed the sword into the ground, sending out a shockwave in the form of a concentrated zigzagging line headed towards them at an alarming pace. Roxy grabbed the sleeve of Luna’s shirt and lunged to the side, pulling the girl to the ground. The shockwave struck the wall of fire and caused a section of flames to shoot up into the air, catching a nearby tree on fire.</p><p>The black cloud Roxy had sent after the faeries crackled with black electricity, ionizing the air and causing the flames to burn a little more wildly. The faerie controlling the fire created an arc in midair between the purple flames and the inky thundercloud, and the cloud discharged into the fire, dissipating as it did. She grinned at them, her sharp, pointy teeth reflecting the light of her amaranthine inferno. The older faerie slid his sword out of the ground and brought his fist down in front of his stomach, the blade he held vertically covering some of his face, like he was a knight. His other hand disappeared behind his back.</p><p>Luna was on her feet first, casting the water spell again. This time, though, she aimed it at the fire faerie at the very last second, increasing the pressure enough to reach her. The faerie’s concentration broke only for a second as the water hit, but that was enough for the flames to wink out of existence. The area was plunged into darkness. The unfortunate tradeoff was that this created a bit of a handicap for them, since the faeries used the Sight (or the Vision, as Luna referred to it) as naturally as if it were just another sense of theirs. Which it essentially was, anyway.</p><p>Luna ran across the field towards a cluster of nearby houses, and Roxy followed after as soon as she was upright again. She didn’t know anyone who lived around here, let alone where they might gain access to someone’s demesne. The faeries were in the direction of Roxy’s house, blocking it off to them, though it wouldn’t be safe there even if they managed to get inside. The entire reason this battle had happened in the first place was that Roxy had attempted to claim the house as a demesne, and Jaswan had contested her claim by sending a pair of assassins her way. It was her own fault for getting a teenager involved.</p><p>She could only hope that Luna knew of somewhere they could go, someone who would welcome them in at this time of night, before the faeries caught up to them. She could hear them behind her, not traveling quite as fast as they were. Faeries were strong and agile, but they couldn’t outpace humans, who were specifically designed for this kind of long distance running.</p><p>Nevertheless, in case they tried to block off the way ahead or snipe one of them from behind, Roxy shot out two homing jets of ink along with another electricity cloud, her necklace held behind her body. Then she dangled the necklace over her mouth and swallowed some ink, willing it down into her legs so that she could move faster. Still running, she watched as the veins and arteries on her knees up to her thighs turned black in a crisscrossing network of ink that slowly filled in across her capillaries, the meager radiance of someone’s porch light allowing her to observe the contrast between her white shorts and the now pitch black skin underneath. There was a noticeable uptick in her speed, allowing her to mostly catch up with Luna.</p><p>They followed the street, Luna pushing herself to stay in the lead. Pretty soon, a small building with a sign hanging out front interrupted the suburban monotony of the rest of the road, which featured a small maple in front of each house with alternating red and green foliage, separated from the individual properties by a sidewalk.</p><p>There were no lights on inside the quaint, two-story building, but there was enough ambient light from the nearby homes that she could make out what it read on the sign. <em> Alan Muscovy’s Pixie Emporium, </em> in blocky text, with a cartoon sketch of a winged fey humanoid underneath. Luna threw herself at the door, knocking on it repeatedly with the back of her fist. She stopped to listen for any noise within, then started banging again. Roxy drew out a rune in midair with her necklace, preventing the sound from reaching the houses across the street, just in case there wasn’t already a ward to that effect in place. She suspected there was, though, since she doubted ordinary humans would even be able to see the shop. Not a very effective location, then, out here in this random village. Something closer to Carthage or even Natural Bridge would probably see more traffic.</p><p>The faerie duo rounded the street corner, and they seemed to be floating in order to make themselves travel faster. They were gaining on the emporium at a scary rate.</p><p>“Try amplifying the sound with magic?” Roxy suggested nervously. Luna took a deep breath and banged on the door again, this time with the side of her fist, slower and more heavily than before. She drew her wand and pointed it at the door as she did so, making each knock progressively louder.</p><p>The faeries were close enough to engage them now. Roxy shot at them, but the male deflected both shots with his sword, then pointed the tip at her and sent a bolt of red-colored energy directly at her necklace. The energy arced towards her too quickly for her to avoid, and her implement flew out of her hand, smashing against the concrete as the energy carried it downwards, hard. She felt the connection between herself and her implement shatter, the loss hitting her all at once as her primary source of power permanently left her. The rune in the air disappeared, as did the ink in her legs, and she felt significantly weakened, the exhaustion of the run catching up with her. </p><p>“Watch out! I think this guy can break implements,” Roxy shouted, then dove for the necklace anyway, hopeful that she might be wrong. It wasn’t visibly broken in any way, but picking it up did nothing to restore its power or her connection to it. She tried to generate some ink, and nothing happened. “Shit.”</p><p>The faeries were almost on top of them. It was entirely up to Luna now, since she didn’t have anything left to draw runes with. She was completely powerless, and that made her angry more than anything.</p><p>Except it wasn’t entirely up to Luna. The street was suddenly illuminated by a blast of searingly bright light, traveling outwards from the interior of the shop. Roxy shielded her eyes as the light passed over her, ultimately harmless. Once it had passed completely, she observed that the faeries were nowhere to be seen. Luna had backed up onto the road, and looked completely stunned by what had just happened.</p><p>There were four, maybe five, long seconds of silence before the door creaked open and a thin older man in a flannel nightgown stepped out, holding an old-fashioned oil lamp.</p><p>“Good morning,” he said, amicably. “Customers, perhaps?”</p>
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</p><p><span class="big"> <span class="big"> <span class="big"><br/><strong><span class="big">2.1</span></strong></span><br/></span> </span> </p><p> </p><p>There was something about the inflatable mattress and the weight of the blankets that made me feel like I was sleeping on my own bed, back home in my janky little Pennsylvania apartment. Waking up to a loud alarm somewhere on the ground to my right, therefore, was initially very confusing, since there should only have been a wall in that direction. I opened my eyes and looked over in the direction of the sound, realizing where I was only a moment later. </p><p>Oh, right. The funeral.</p><p>Groaning, I rolled out of bed and shut off my alarm. A bit too late. Luna and Sam were already emerging from their bedroom. Sam let out a loud yawn and Luna rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. They looked equally offended at how early I’d gotten up after the rough night we’d had.</p><p>“Seven thirty? Really?” Sam asked. “You couldn’t have let us sleep in any longer?”</p><p>“Sorry,” I said. “I wanted to get going early. Believe me, I’m just as tired. It’s probably okay if you want to get another hour of sleep in before we get ready to leave.”</p><p>“Well,” he said, and he took a second to think about it, “I’m going back to sleep then.”</p><p>“Hey,” I said to Luna once he’d gone back to bed, “you wanna go pick up your car at some point?”</p><p>She nodded. “After the funeral.”</p><p>“Okay,” I said. I looked around the room. “Is Ezrul already up?”</p><p>“Eh,” she replied, shrugging, “he takes naps throughout the day. He’s probably sunbathing outside.”</p><p>“So he acts like a cat.”</p><p>“He is a cat, pretty much,” she said. “Like, I don’t know if the familiar ritual rewires brain functioning or whatever but he was more like a faerie at first, then he got progressively feline as time went on.”</p><p>“Isn’t that weird to you? That there’s a grown adult man somewhere in there?”</p><p>“A little,” she said, walking into the kitchen. I followed her in. “It helps to know that he was never human.”</p><p>“I don’t understand the distinction,” I said, leaning against the doorframe and watching her assemble a bowl of cereal. “Isn’t a faerie basically a human, just latently magical? If that’s a word. Latently. Hard to pronounce.” </p><p>“A human who possesses latent magical abilities?” Luna rephrased. “No, at least I don’t think so. A lot of creatures toe the line of sentience, or… sapience? Both, I guess. And others, like faeries, meet the same cognitive criteria that humans do, but they think differently. Different evolutionary pressures in the magical world.”</p><p>“So they did evolve. That’s kind of strange.” Luna quirked her head at me. “I just mean… the conclusion of that is that we probably have a common ancestor, which throws some things off, unless... actually, there could be some kind of permanent transformation process which generates new species somehow,” I said. “Which I guess is the more likely hypothesis, that at some point a group of practitioners basically turned into Others. Is that—I mean, what are the ethics of this? Like, if I were to kill a faerie, or a less sentient fey, or something. What’s okay and what isn’t?”</p><p>Luna looked up from a spoonful of her cereal, giving me an impatient glare. “I’m a practitioner, Jamie. There’s no time to sit down and think about <em> ethics. </em> What am I, a graduate student?”</p><p>“Ha ha,” I said, humorlessly. “I guess I’ll assume that if it can hold a conversation, killing it is about equivalent to ending a human life.”</p><p>“You gonna judge me then?” she said, changing her posture. She looked offended, her stance a defensive one. <em> Judge her? What does she… OH. </em></p><p>“Oh, shit,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize. I guess you’ve probably… I don’t think I can really blame you. You do what you have to do when your life depends on it, I guess.” It made me uncomfortable to think I might have to do the same at some point, even possibly sometime soon. If the Queen sent her people to attack the funeral home… I suddenly understood Aunt Cathy a little bit, maybe. How one way to justify killing Others was to dissociate yourself from them entirely, literally othering them. That didn’t make it okay, but… yeah.</p><p>“It’s okay,” she said, sympathetic. “It’s really hard to adjust to being a practitioner. Trust me, I know the feeling. I know you said you’re glad that you know about this stuff, but I’m sorry you had to get involved this directly so early. It really sucks, especially when you don’t have any real power yet.”</p><p>“Speaking of which,” I said, “could I borrow some paper? My notepad kind of burnt up.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said, lightly slapping her forehead. “Yeah, sorry. I should have thought to put some wards on that. Maybe that’s something you can practice for the next little bit: warding runes.”</p><p>“Sure,” I said, “though I’d rather get ready first. Do you have any button-downs I could borrow? Mine is kind of bloody.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Once I’d showered and changed, I sat at the dining room table. Luna offered me a bowl of cereal and a new notepad, both of which I gratefully accepted. She showed me the book section on drawing up wards, warning me against actually putting them into effect. It was important to conserve power. It seemed that wards didn’t technically count as shamanism, so there was no need to appeal to any higher power. The way they worked was a consequence of magical forces. The universe was able to categorize things on its own in some rudimentary way, which I found to be slightly disconcerting. Yet another thing to do some research into later, when I wasn’t perpetually crunched for time.</p><p>I worked on some runes while Luna took a shower, reading a little bit while I practiced the mechanical motions. The author was mostly concerned with presenting a straightforward field guide, so the material was surface level. I noticed that the runes for warding looked different, blockier than the ones that appealed to the gods, and looking over the shamanistic spirit runes, it became clear that runes which functioned similarly were shaped similarly. That prompted yet another question. Had the runes been pre-assigned by some ancient Others or practitioners, or were they actually a language that the universe understood? There hadn’t been any need to ask the question when the runes were a language for communication with the spirits or the gods. Okay, maybe that wasn’t strictly true if spirits and gods were more magic than soul, but it came to mind now that I knew that wards didn’t communicate with anybody. The question was kind of moot, though; I highly doubted that the universe could understand written language.</p><p>Lost in thought, I barely noticed as Luna returned from the bathroom. I glanced at her briefly, then did a double take. She was wearing her necklace over a white button-down and black dress pants that flared a little at her ankles. Her hair was no longer tied up, and it had poofed out, surprisingly curly. She was wearing makeup too, not excessive or overtly feminine but enough to make her look startlingly different. Everything about how she was done up was totally inconsistent with the Luna I had come to know over the last couple of days.</p><p>“Maybe you can tell me how the runes are coming?” she asked.</p><p>“Oh,” I said, my voice small. “They’re going.” I turned to look down at the paper, allowing me to enter a more analytical mode of thought, something I was comfortable with. “See, I’ve got fire warding, fey warding, uhh…” I looked back up at her and was taken aback a second time. I felt kind of outdone, to be honest. Maybe I could pretty myself up a bit more later. “Sorry, just… very different from how you normally look.”</p><p>“It’s a tactic,” she said, with a wink. “The contrast makes me look hotter either way.”</p><p>“Well it looks good,” I said, leaving it at that.</p><p>“I’m going to go wake Sam up.”</p><p>“Sure,” I said, standing. I pocketed the new warded notepad and walked outside for some fresh air, leaving my blazer hanging on the back of the chair.</p><p>Ezrul wasn’t sitting on my rental. I followed the edge of the house around to the back to see if he was back there. Their “backyard” was basically a clearing in the woods, a few large rocks scattered about. Nothing of particular interest back here: no cat, nothing man-made. One of the rocks, which might more accurately have been described as a boulder, had been pulled out of the ground wholesale, and was lying sideways on the ground next to the partially-filled hole it had come out of. The line around the rock where it had been level with the ground was visible, a thin layer of dirt that extended down to the bottom. </p><p>I sat down on one of the rocks and looked out into the woods in all directions, using my arm to keep the sun out of my eyes. Mostly pine forest, which didn’t surprise me, but it wasn’t what I was used to. Pennsylvania forests were a lot more deciduous in character, so seeing these ancient, massive conifers as the apex of the forest made for a nice change of pace. One swath of trees opposite the house had been knocked over, the stumps and ends of their corpses partially crushed, woody pulp squashed out to the sides. Damage done by the troll, no doubt.</p><p>I turned on my Vision, leaving my eyes wide open for once. The Vision augmented my normal sight in surprising ways, making colors more vibrant and saturated than they might have been otherwise. I wasn’t sure if that scaled with the saturation of the color I was looking at, so that the hottest hot pink would stay roughly the same, or if it actually changed how I perceived light itself, but the sky looked a lot brighter than any blue I had seen at least in a while. There were tones of a strange intensely purple color streaked throughout as well, which seemed to be a quality intrinsic to the refractory nature of the sky, not something caused by the weather. Ultraviolet, maybe? Turning the Vision off for comparison, the blue turned to a lighter cyan and the purple vanished altogether. I toggled it on and off a few more times, looking around me at different areas and subjects each time so I could get a sense of the color shift. Lighter colors were darkened and darker colors were simultaneously lightened, decreasing the overall visual contrast of the scene. At the same time, the saturation of all of the colors was turned up and there was a lot more nuance to colors which, without the Vision, stood as solid, monolithic tones: the swirls of purple in the sky, shades of turquoise among the pine needles, splashes of warm pinks and beiges on perfectly white flowers. All of it was fleeting splashes of color, small details that danced around my eyesight if I studied them too closely, which gave everything a dreamlike quality. I thought of Starry Night, of how similar the effect was to Impressionist art. Somehow I doubted that Van Gogh had been a practitioner, but perhaps he had been able to pierce the veil in some respects. </p><p>I could sense Sam standing at what I assumed to be the bathroom sink, and Luna at the table. Ezrul was in the front of the house, sitting on my rental. Huh. A little hesitantly, I reached out in the direction of the trail of destruction, searching for the troll. No luck. Wherever it was, it seemed to be pretty far out of range.</p><p>Which gave me an idea. I reached out in all directions at once, broadening the scope of the Vision until it formed a near perfect circle around where I was sitting. By some rough, informal reckoning I estimated the radius to be about twelve miles, which coincided with the radius of the exclusion zone. An interesting coincidence, if it wasn’t just confirmation bias.</p><p>I gave my Vision a rest, a little wary since Luna had warned me about its prolonged use. I sat there for a bit longer, letting my mind go blank and just appreciating the weather. The first real break I’d allowed myself since I’d gotten dragged into all of this. It was a really nice day, not too many clouds but enough to keep the sun out of my eyes. The pine trees around the clearing also provided a good bit of shade. It wasn’t quite fall yet—school was only barely getting started in most places, and it hadn’t yet for me. I didn’t know that I was ready or able to go back to something that mundane.</p><p>The dining room window opened.</p><p>“Jamie!” Luna called out to me. “It’s half past nine. When does the service start?”</p><p>“Oh,” I said, hopping off of the rock. “Noon, but I was hoping to get there a couple of hours early.”</p><p>“We should get going then. You need to do anything else before we leave?”</p><p>“Not really. Let me get my blazer on and make sure that I look okay first.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ten minutes later, and we were on the road to Carthage. Sam was in the passenger seat, body language closed off with his eyes glued to the window, and Luna sat in the back with Ezrul on her lap. He looked to be napping, but I knew that he was awake.</p><p>“What do you think I should do about my parents?” I asked. “You know, if the Queen does show up. They’ll perceive her as a regular human, won’t they? Like with that Clark guy.”</p><p>“Yes,” Ezrul said. “As long as they don’t look too closely, they won’t notice anything out of the ordinary. And it’s Calarok, for future reference.”</p><p>“You know him?” I asked, surprised.</p><p>“Queen Jaswan’s court is what humans would consider a commune. They have a very strong sense of collective identity. Everyone takes on jobs to help out from time to time, and everyone learns from each other. Calarok taught me how to hunt.”</p><p>“Like… hunting humans?”</p><p>“Occasionally,” he said, without missing a beat, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “But mostly small animals, lesser fey. Creatures without complex reasoning. We trained together for several months.”</p><p>“That’s a long time. How old does that make him, if he was your teacher?”</p><p>“A long time for you, maybe. He is two hundred and sixteen years old, I believe."</p><p>“Crazy,” I said, shaking my head. “But, so, what am I supposed to do if she attacks?”</p><p>“Why don’t you take them somewhere safe?” Luna suggested. “We’re better equipped to handle the Queen.”</p><p>“Who’s to say they’ll listen to—”</p><p>“Your guess about your aunt came true,” Luna said. “And I’m sure they trust you regardless.”</p><p>“It’s <em> really </em> difficult to talk to them with this stupid lie restriction in place. Especially when the things I want them to do look totally stupid and arbitrary to someone who doesn’t know about all this practitioner stuff.”</p><p>“Welcome to our everyday existence,” she said, annoyed. “Look, this isn’t your fight. Get your family somewhere safe, and all the other funeral attendees will work together to combat the Queen. We got a diabolist, a couple of chronomancers, some… other people.”</p><p>“Then why would she attack?”</p><p>“Haven’t we been over this?” Sam asked, not looking away from the window. “Desperation, maybe. The perfect window of opportunity. If she doesn’t make a move, then all the better.”</p><p>“Right, okay. Yeah, that makes sense.”</p><p>“Almost there,” Ezrul purred.</p><p>The GPS saw me turn right off of the main street and onto a smaller road that looked to be more residential. We pulled into a small lot next to a brick building covered in ivy. <em> Juneau Astrid Non-denominational Funeral Home. </em> There was only one other car in the lot: a white Honda HR-V with a Connecticut license plate. Not a car that I recognized.</p><p>The funeral home was directly across from a tattoo parlor, which was closed, probably because it was early on a Sunday morning. Next door to the tattoo place was a book cafe that seemed to be pretty busy. There was a cemetery behind the parking lot, which I assumed was associated with the funeral home. There was also a large warehouse on the other side of the parking lot. Otherwise, the street was mostly houses, especially the further you got away from the main street.</p><p>Sam got out first, opening the door for Luna and Ezrul. She was holding the cat in her arms, one hand holding him under his arms and the other supporting his butt. Any ordinary cat would have hated being held like that. Ezrul, not actually being a cat, didn’t seem to mind.</p><p>We walked up to the door, which was clearly a recent fixture in contrast to the age of the building. Luna gave three sharp knocks, and then we waited.</p><p>We stood there for nearly a minute, looking at each other uncertainly. There was no noise from inside. Eventually, Luna raised her hand to knock a second time, and in that instant, the door opened to reveal an older Asian gentleman with thick, bushy eyebrows. He was wearing a black shirt with a Roman collar.</p><p>“You are very early, Masters Legere.” He looked at me. “And Westbrook, I presume?” He had a faint Israeli accent. At least, from what I could discern. I’d had an Israeli immigrant friend in high school who’d spoken similarly.</p><p>“Jamie Riker,” I said, holding my hand out for a handshake. He took it and gripped my hand tightly rather than shaking it, before dropping his hand back to his side. His skin was colder and moister than a human’s had any right to be, almost like I was touching an icicle. I gave him a curious look. <em> Was </em> he human? There was an effortless quality to his appearance that I couldn’t quite place. “The deceased is my great grandma.”</p><p>“A pleasure.”</p><p>“Brother Eben,” Luna addressed him, bowing her head slightly in polite deference. “I hope we aren’t being rude, arriving so early.”</p><p>“You would be,” the man said, a hint of a scowl on his lips as he turned away from me to look again at Luna and her cat, “if you had come alone, but you are welcome to enter regardless. Do not take this kindness as a gesture. Your presence is not appreciated, though it will be tolerated.” He gave Luna a thin smile.</p><p>Jeez. </p><p>Brother Eben stepped to the side, gesturing our entry into the funeral home. I led the way, entering into a large room that reminded me of some kind of church. Maybe I had just underestimated the size of this place, but it definitely felt bigger than it should have been, the aisles too wide and the ceiling too high. There were two columns of pews leading up to a dias upon which there sat a closed casket. Next to the dias on either side were an electric organ and an altar covered primarily in candle wax with a few unlit candles placed haphazardly on different levels.</p><p>There was a couple of doors in the back, one which clearly led out into the graveyard and another which might have led to a back room or a basement of some sort. I wondered if the nominal centenarian was in the building yet. There had only been a single car outside…</p><p>“What, uh, wards do you have in place?” I asked the clergyman, feeling a little awkward mentioning the practice to a stranger. Luna and Sam took a seat at one of the pews in the back corner, whispering quietly to each other. Ezrul climbed down from Luna’s arms and proceeded to stretch, his claws making slight clicking sounds where they made contact with the wood.</p><p>“Wards?” he asked, looking confused. I tensed, thinking I might have just messed up, that the man was a normal person, no knowledge of anything magical. Then he spoke again, and I relaxed. “This building has sufficient protections in place should something occur which we did not anticipate.”</p><p>“Do you think that it might?”</p><p>“A curious question,” he said. “Do you expect that something will happen today, Jamie Riker?”</p><p>“Do you not?”</p><p>Before he could answer, there was another knock at the door.</p><p>“Well,” Brother Eben said, “perhaps we should open the doors now, if everyone is arriving so soon before the service.”</p><p>He opened the door to reveal a middle-aged woman with a pixie cut wearing a black suit over a nude beige top that matched her skin color almost perfectly. She was wearing a tacky azure blue necklace of seashells, which clashed with her outfit, though that wasn’t saying a lot since her outfit already did not suit her at all.</p><p>“Ah, Miss Arland,” the minister said, “you’re early.” I noticed Luna perk up a bit out of the corner of my eye.</p><p>“I’m not the first, which is all that matters,” she said, looking at me. “Do you know when the family is to arrive?”</p><p>“I’m sure they’re already on their way.”</p><p>“Roxy,” Luna said, walking over so that she was standing at my side. I glanced over to where she’d been sitting and saw Sam on his phone, idly stroking the cat who was now perched on the back of the pew.</p><p>“Luna,” the woman said, smiling. Brother Eben gestured at her to come inside, then wedged a small rock in the door to prop it open partway.</p><p>“If you need me,” he declared, walking towards the front of the room, “I’ll be setting things up outside. Father Juneau is downstairs at the moment but he will be up soon.”</p><p>“Alright,” I said.</p><p>“And let in anyone else who arrives, please,” he added, before vanishing out the back door..</p><p>The woman stepped up to Luna and pulled her into a hug which looked to be too tight. Luna returned the hug loosely. They broke apart and the woman stepped back, jamming her hands into her back pockets. “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>“Yeah, but… it’s the last time we’ll see each other, right? You get to go back now that Grandma Westbrook’s passed?”</p><p>“Maybe,” the woman said slowly, then sighed. “I still haven’t decided. If the president demands it, I’ll go.”</p><p>“The president?” I asked.</p><p>“Oh,” Luna said, looking at me, then back at the woman. “Sorry. Roxy, this is Jamie. Teddy Westbrook’s granddaugh—grandchild. Jamie, Roxy Arland. She works for the Canadian government, sort of.”</p><p>“The… magical government?”</p><p>“Yes,” Roxy said. “I’m here on assignment. You’re… Leah’s kid, right?”</p><p>“Margaret,” I corrected her. “I haven’t seen my Aunt Leah since Grandma’s 90th. She used to live out in Missouri and now she’s in California, apparently.”</p><p>“Smart move,” Sam said, not looking up from his phone. “Getting as far away from here as possible.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Roxy said, ignoring him. “Too many of you to keep track of. Not a lot of practitioners, though.”</p><p>“My grandpa did a good job of keeping us safe,” I said. “I’m assuming he was aware.”</p><p>“He was aware,” Roxy said. “A good man, from what I’ve heard. Very different from Cathy. Only one of them internalized the toxicity.”</p><p>“I wonder which one you’re referring to,” I said, drily.</p><p>“Luna,” Roxy said, “I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece. You seem to be doing okay.”</p><p>“You have no idea the hell I’ve been through these past few days,” Luna replied.</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“So many awkward interactions with Jamie’s family. Cathy, their uncle, their parents… We also got chased by faeries in unmarked vehicles. And then a troll destroyed a corner of our house. Oh yeah, and then Alan robbed us because the demesne was compromised.”</p><p>“What?” Roxy asked, clearly alarmed. “Chased? A troll? Why didn’t you call me?”</p><p>“Sorry,” Luna said. “Things have been hectic since Jamie got here, plus I figured I’d see you here.”</p><p>“Luna, this is the sort of situation where you call an adult. That’s <em> literally </em> why I’m here.”</p><p>“I am an adult!” she protested. “Jamie and Sam are adults. We have Ezrul too.”</p><p>“Hello,” Ezrul said quietly, squinting his eyes at them.</p><p>“Hi, Ezrul,” Roxy said. She sighed. “Look, you know what I mean.”</p><p>“I’m with her,” I said to Luna. “You haven’t even been scratched; I’m the one who keeps getting hurt. Having more allies around can only be a good thing.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine, it’s behind us now. I just don’t want to break my jaw again. That really sucked.”</p><p>“How did that happen?” Roxy asked, eyes wide.</p><p>“I got into a fight with a faerie in a hotel parking lot. Tricked him into lying, and then he got pissed and beat me up.”</p><p>“And where was Luna at the time?”</p><p>“Driving my parents to safety.” I saw her give Luna an incredulous, angry look, and quickly added: “It wasn’t her fault. I took control of the situation.”</p><p>“No need to defend her,” Roxy said. “She knows she fucked up.”</p><p>Luna did indeed look pretty guilty. I didn’t think it was very fair that a literal federal agent was getting on her case, but I really didn’t want to get hurt again, so… whatever. If I had known that there were people like Roxy who could help I would have insisted that they be brought into the picture as early as possible. Maybe she could have even prevented the damage done to the house, or at the very least kept out the faerie trafficker. Except, I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of external help after Ezrul had told me on my first night here that everyone in town was either “rude or weird,” and I’d internalized that as a fact. Come to think of it, his wording had been a lot less precise than that, but I couldn’t seriously fault myself for misinterpreting peoples’ words with so much going on around me.</p><p>“So,” I said, changing the subject, “do you have a familiar? A tool?”</p><p>“An implement, yes,” Roxy said, fingering her blue shell necklace. “I’m a necklacemancer.”</p><p>“Is that a real thing?” I asked, surprised.</p><p>“Yeah, but it isn’t called that. I just think it’s funny. Sounds like ‘necromancer’.”</p><p>“Right…” I said, not particularly amused. “Are <em> necromancers </em> a real thing?”</p><p>“There are spirits, aren’t there?” Roxy said. “Not around here, but in general.”</p><p>“Sure, but… reanimating corpses?”</p><p>“You can put a ghost back into a body,” she said. “Or you can raise mindless undead. Some people like to capture spirits and feed them power and energy until they become wraiths or… worse. Then they’ll give them corporeal form. You can make some pretty horrifying things that way.”</p><p>“So, like…” I took a second to phrase the question in my head. “I’ve been wondering about this a bit, but what are the worst things out there like? I guess there are demons, but… are powerful Others just naturally malevolent or something?”</p><p>“Honestly?” Roxy said. “Some of the worst living things I know of are human.”</p><p>“There are some scary gods,” Sam said, stuffing his phone in his pocket as he finally walked over to where we were still standing by the door. “Other things which may as well be classed as gods. You ever read any Lovecraft?”</p><p>My stomach did a somersault in my gut and my breath caught in my throat. “You’re fucking with me.”</p><p>“Miserable dude, saw a demon or two and wrote horror to cope. Also saw black people. Nightmare fuel, really, me and Luna.”</p><p>Luna must have caught some surprise in the glance I gave her. “We’re both mixed,” she said. “Somehow I missed out on the melanin.”</p><p>“Weirdly enough,” Sam continued, “Lovecraft got a lot right. I think sometimes when a non-practitioner experiences something supernatural, they develop this weird intuition for how the universe works.”</p><p>“That would explain Van Gogh,” I murmured to myself.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nevermind. So there are… Cthulhus out there in space or something?”</p><p>“At some point,” Sam said, “an Other becomes so powerful that the energy and magic of life isn’t enough to sustain it. They just sort of… leave, and search for pockets of magic out in space. They follow these, like, skeins of energy, like cosmic pacmen. Nothing to worry about, as long as they don’t swallow the Earth in the process.”</p><p>“Don’t scare the beginner,” Roxy admonished.</p><p>“Yikes,” I said. “Is that possible?”</p><p>Sam shrugged. “Apparently it’s like a billion to one that it ever happens at all, but I don’t remember why. Professor Moonhaze could probably tell you more.”</p><p>“Good to know,” I said. “Moonhaze? Is that their real name?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sam said. “He says his name is Gene Moonhaze, but there’s no spirits around, so who knows how true that is. He’ll be here today, if he hasn’t forgotten about the funeral. It wouldn’t be the first time.”</p><p>“What does he even teach? It sounds like he’s more of a researcher.”</p><p>“He teaches physics at a nearby community college. Special interest in Quantum Mechanics? I don’t really know, honestly.”</p><p>“He definitely sounds interesting,” I said. “I’ll have to talk to him at some point.”</p><p>“Fair warning,” Luna said. “He’s kind of a nut.”</p><p>“Don’t be rude. He’s perfectly fine,” Roxy said, the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot outside cutting off the conversation. We walked over to the windows and took a look.</p><p>It was Patrick and his kids. Jay got out of the passenger seat and walked around to the trunk. Another, bigger car pulled in next to them. My dad, my mom, Cathy, Roy, and Mitch.</p><p>When I turned around, I was shocked to see a man in the room with us. Tall, with short-cropped black hair and the same clerical outfit that Brother Eben had been wearing. The only difference was a giant golden cross on a chain around his neck.</p><p>He rotated his body so that he was facing me, a pleasant, peaceful expression on his face. The way he moved was so elegant and flawless, he had an almost spectral quality to him.</p><p>“Hello,” he said, causing Luna, who was still at the window, to jump.</p><p>“Didn’t hear you come in,” I said. “I’m guessing you’re Juneau Astrid?”</p><p>“Father Juneau, if you please,” he said, then turned towards the door, placing his fists against his hips. “Ah, here comes the family.”</p><p>Aunt Cathy was the first one inside. She was followed quickly by her husband, then by Jay and Emma, who were both carrying heavy-looking casserole dishes.</p><p>“You look good, Jamie,” my dad said as he entered and saw me.</p><p>“Thanks,” I said. “I just needed some rest, I think.”</p><p>“I meant your outfit,” he said. “But that too, I guess. You seemed pretty out of it yesterday.”</p><p>“Legeres,” Cathy said loudly, angrily, the word hanging in the air and cutting off all conversation among the incoming Westbrooks. The priest looked at her curiously. “Out, both of you, now. And take that damn cat with you too."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 2.2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Cat?” Mitch asked, the first to break the tense silence that followed. He looked around before spotting Ezrul, who stared back at him evenly. “Huh.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” my dad demanded. “That’s Jamie’s girlfriend you’re talking to.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Cathy said, visibly fuming. “Well I know for a <em> fact </em> that they met less than two days ago.” She pointed at me. “Deny it.”</p><p>“Wh—” I said, caught off guard. “What are you—?”</p><p>“Deny it!”</p><p>“Woah, woah,” my dad said, stepping between us. “Cathy, calm down. I think you’re confused.”</p><p>“And I <em> know </em> you’ve been deceived,” she hissed at him, then turned her attention back to us, staring daggers at Luna. “I played along with your charade yesterday, Legere, but I will not have you present at my mother’s funeral service!”</p><p>“She isn’t hurting anybody,” Roxy said. I didn’t think I could have come up with a more lame and lackluster defense if I tried. I had a better sense for Roxy’s character now, and maybe an inkling of why she hadn’t been top of mind when we’d been facing down dangerous enemies.</p><p>“You’re too soft on her, Roxane,” Cathy said. “You of all people should know better.”</p><p>Roxy’s face darkened at that. “Luna is not her mother. I don’t understand why you always insist on this bloodline nonsense.”</p><p>“I didn’t even mention her,” Cathy spat. “Luna’s a thief! That’s on her and her brother. Nobody else made them do that. Hell, you’re practically their parole officer. Miserable wench!”</p><p>“How dare you,” Roxy said, though her response lacked the kind of force I would have hoped for from her.</p><p>“Mom,” Patrick said, a touch too loudly. He placed a firm hand on Aunt Cathy’s shoulder. “Not in front of the kids, please.” </p><p>I noticed Father Juneau standing off to the side, watching the scene passively. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The motherfucker. He was <em> enjoying </em> this.</p><p>“Fine,” Cathy said, after a few moments of silence. “She can stay, but her brother goes.” She turned to address him. “You’re too old to be playing the victim, Sam. Get a grip and get lost.”</p><p>Sam scoffed at her. “Fine by me.”</p><p>“No,” my dad said, putting a hand out in his direction. “That isn’t necessary.”</p><p>“I said it’s fine by me,” Sam repeated. “I don’t need to be around that kind of negativity.” He hopped off the window ledge where he’d been sitting and walked towards the door, beckoning Ezrul over with one finger. “Come on, kitty. Let’s go.”</p><p>“That’s an unusually well-trained cat,” Mitch observed, as Ezrul hopped off the pew, making a small merp as he landed, then padded out the door after Sam.</p><p>“The last thing I’ll say,” Cathy said, looking a little more relaxed but no less angry, “is that it’s no coincidence that the Westbrook and Legere households are in the same town. Think about it, Toby, Margaret.” Somehow, I doubted the truth behind that statement and what she was saying to my parents were equivalent. My mind went again to the topic of Luna’s mother. Who the hell <em> was </em> she?</p><p>My dad looked a little uncertain. My mom was biting her lower lip, expression impassive. She would have my back at least, though I still really hated that I was lying to her.</p><p>“Don’t listen to her, dad,” I said. “She’s had a problem with me since I got here.”</p><p>“I know,” he said, sounding defeated. “We talked to Mitch. Apparently Tilda was defending you.”</p><p>“Is that why they left Cathy’s?” He nodded. “Damn. Are they still coming?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “They’re in town. They’re getting here a little bit later, so that they don’t have to deal with the family.”</p><p>“I hope I didn’t mess anything up between them and Cathy.”</p><p>“Nah,” he said, rubbing the side of his neck. “They’ve had issues for a long time. Tilda’s kids, you know? I think there’s been a lot of feigned civility, all around.”</p><p>“I feel that.”</p><p>“Sorry about that, Luna,” my mom said. “You didn’t deserve that. Sorry about your brother, too.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Luna said. “I’m sorry too.”</p><p>People were already moving away from the front door and towards the center of the room, including Roxy, who gave Luna a sad, sympathetic look before sitting at a pew.</p><p>“Please, sit anywhere,” Father Juneau was saying. “You can put the food out back. It’s the door on the left. Here.” He went over and opened the door, letting out Jay and Emma. Their little sister Cassie followed after them. Patrick, who was also carrying some food, followed after his children.</p><p>“Well,” my dad said. “We’re going to go outside too, I think. I need a breather, and it’ll be good to talk to Pat about what just happened.”</p><p>“Sure,” I said. My dad gave my shoulder a squeeze before he and my mom headed out the door after the Westbrooks. Mitch hung back.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, in a low voice. He looked between me and Luna. “What’s going on here?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” I asked.</p><p>“I’m not stupid,” he said. “Yes, it’s possible that Luna’s brother happens to live in the same town as Aunt Cathy, but I don’t think it’s very likely. And sure, you might have dropped Luna off at her brother’s place before stopping by for the wake, but I think you would have said something, no? Might have mentioned her in the context of going out for dinner, or something like that?”</p><p>“Uncle Mitch…”</p><p>“Cathy isn’t stupid either, Jamie. I know it might have seemed like she just came unhinged, but I know her better than that. That was a calculated ploy. She thought that out in advance.”</p><p>“I— this isn’t the best time…”</p><p>“Look. I don’t really care what’s going on, or why, but it sounds like you guys have been lying to people and it’s making me uneasy. You know you can trust me, right?”</p><p>“It isn’t like that,” I said, shaking my head. “I trust you, but it’s complicated and I’m not sure I could explain it if I tried. Honest.”</p><p>“Alright,” he said, after a pause. “I’ll butt out. But I’m chill, okay? I’ve got no stake in any of this, and I won’t snitch on you to your parents. So if you need someone to talk to…”</p><p>“Thanks,” I said, giving him a weak smile. “I’ll give it some thought later.”</p><p>“Please do,” he said, clapping me on the back and walking off to join the rest of the family.</p><p>“That guy is too observant,” Luna said, once he was out of earshot. “I don’t think he suspects anything strange is going on, but he did notice Ezrul. I hate your goddamn aunt.”</p><p>“Sorry again about her,” I said. “How do you normally deal with regular people who start to notice magic things?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t really talk to anyone who isn’t a practitioner.”</p><p>The sound of another car pulling up outside made us turn to look out the window again. Margot Behaim. She let her son out of the backseat, while a pair of individuals I wasn’t familiar with exited the other side of the vehicle. The… guy from up north maybe? He was young, with dark hair and an unusual face shape that, when combined with the fact that he was wearing sunglasses, made me think of that moon man McDonalds commercial from the 80s. The blonde woman who got out of the car with him looked to be about his age, maybe his wife. I pegged them as being in their late twenties.</p><p>“Ah,” said Aunt Cathy, rising from her seat to greet the new arrivals. “Behaims. Come in, come in.”</p><p>The four of them entered, the moon man taking off his sunglasses and folding them into the pocket of his blazer. The woman was wearing an old fashioned dress, and looked quite severe. Too severe, too old. It was a little unsettling, if I was being honest.</p><p>“Go play with the kids out back,” Margot told her son. She gave him a little push towards the door that led outside. He turned to look at her uncertainly, and she waved him along.</p><p>“Good to see you again, Alister, Rose,” Roy said, following his wife to the door.</p><p>“Yes,” said the woman, presumably Rose. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She didn’t look sorry at all.</p><p>Patrick reentered the funeral home, looking a little dazed.</p><p>“You alright?” I asked him as he passed me and Luna by to greet the newcomers.</p><p>“Huh?” he asked, looking at me with a strange expression. “Oh, yeah.”</p><p>“This is my son,” Cathy said, as Patrick approached them, “Patrick. Patrick, this is Rose and Alister Behaim. You know Margot.”</p><p>“Yes, of course. How do you do?” he asked, shaking each of their hands in turn. “You’re from Jacob’s Bell?”</p><p>“I knew a Patrick,” Rose said.</p><p>“Did right by the name, I hope?” Patrick asked, sounding a little thrown by the non sequitur.</p><p>“Former member of Jaswan’s court,” Rose said tightly, giving him a one second smile.</p><p>“O-oh.”</p><p>“We’re here to support the family, Rose,” Alister said, smiling softly. “No politics.”</p><p>“Actually, quite the opposite,” Rose said. “There’s no need for pretenses. Everyone here is fully cognizant of the threat facing us today.” At that, everyone turned to face me and Luna. Roxy must have gone outside at some point with the rest of the family, because we were the only other people left in the funeral home.</p><p>“Luna, right?” Alister said. “Alicia’s kid. And you’re…”</p><p>“Jamie Riker,” I said, stepping away from the windows and shaking his hand. Luna hung back. “I’m part of the family.”</p><p>“Are you in the know?” Rose asked me.</p><p>“About what?” Oh wait, what else could she be talking about? “Oh, yeah. If you mean—yeah. As of two nights ago.”</p><p>“Then we may speak freely,” she said. “Alister and I are not here to mourn the dead, with apologies to Catherine.”</p><p>Cathy gave a small shrug but said nothing.</p><p>“We are here to prevent power from taking power.”</p><p>“The Queen,” I said. Rose gave me an annoyed look.</p><p>“Yes, the Queen. It is in all of our best interests to present a unified front against her and her subjects. She’s dangerous, and she cannot be allowed to break from containment.”</p><p>“Containment?”</p><p>She glowered at me, but answered anyway. “The Westbrook Exclusion Zone exists in large part to keep the Queen in check. There are very few white pieces left on the chessboard of human versus fey, and Aubrey Westbrook was a crucial bishop.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I asked Luna, who was leaning against the windowsill. She looked away.</p><p>“I am an important piece as well,” Rose continued. “A knight, perhaps, continuing the metaphor.”</p><p>“Miss Arland is here as an emissary from Cain Magnus, who is also an ‘important piece,’” Cathy said, doing air quotes. “She should be present for this.”</p><p>“Who is that?” Rose asked, scrunching up her nose and looking in the direction of the graveyard outside. She couldn’t see out that way, but I assumed she was using her Vision. “Oh, I see her.”</p><p>A few moments later, Roxy entered through the door, looking slightly puzzled. Whatever magic Rose was using to segregate the knowledgeable from the unwitting, it was clearly messing with peoples’ heads. I wasn’t sure I liked that.</p><p>“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Aren’t you the Thorburn girl?”</p><p>“Rose. I’m a Behaim now, but yes.”</p><p>“That’s right. My old partner attended your wedding.”</p><p>“Oh, I see,” Rose said. “I know who you are now. Care to join us? We were just having a discussion.”</p><p>“You’re a diabolist,” Roxy said, accusatory.</p><p>“So is he,” Rose said, cocking her head to the side towards my Uncle Roy. “I didn’t choose to be a diabolist, anyway. I inherited the practice from my grandmother.”</p><p>“Hang on,” Patrick said, protesting. “I understand being practitioners, but my children are not going to become diabolists.” Spoken firmly, though he looked uncertain. “...are they?”</p><p>“They must and they will,” Cathy said. “But not for a long while.”</p><p>“That’s—”</p><p>“The way of things,” Cathy said. “We work to pay off the karmic debt accrued by our ancestors. Each generation lessens the burden, until there is no longer any need.”</p><p>“Those are my kids! Your grandkids! Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”</p><p>“We didn’t want to scare you,” Roy said. “I wouldn’t be worried, though. There’s a lot of protections afforded to the Westbrook family, by virtue of their good karma.”</p><p>“How is karma a thing?” I asked. Several people gave me quizzical glances. “I just mean… how does the universe determine right from wrong?”</p><p>“Who the fuck invited this guy?” Rose asked. “Or, sorry. Girl? If you don’t mind my asking—”</p><p>“It’s not a big deal,” I said, a little too quickly and defensively. “However you want to refer to me is fine.”</p><p>“Um, okay,” Rose said. “Anyway, I don’t think the nature of morality is really relevant right now. I know you just started out, or whatever, but save your questions for another time when there isn’t an imminent threat.”</p><p>“Imminent threat?” Patrick cut in again, looking pale.</p><p>“I have it on pretty good authority that the Queen Faerie will come knocking any minute now.”</p><p>Any <em> minute </em> now?</p><p>“I’m an augur,” Alister said in response to the looks of alarm. Aunt Cathy, though, didn’t look surprised at all. <em> Of course.</em></p><p>“Diviner, whatever you want to call it. Seems unavoidable.”</p><p>“Can you do that on the spot?” I asked him. “Tell the future?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said, reaching into an inner pocket and retrieving a tarot deck.</p><p>“And it’s real, legit? Not just pseudoscience?”</p><p>“It’s magic,” Alister said, sounding tired.</p><p>“Do a reading for me then,” I said. “Really fast.”</p><p>“Oh, come <em> on,” </em> Rose said. “There’s no time for this.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Alister said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Alright, Jamie. Ask me a question.”</p><p>“Will I die in the near future?”</p><p>Silence. I looked back at Luna, but she’d wandered off. She was by the wax-covered altar, inspecting it or at least pretending to. She didn’t turn around at my question, though I was sure she was listening.</p><p>“Um,” Patrick said, “why do you ask?”</p><p>“A faerie told me yesterday that… either I would die, or someone close to me would die, and that… which of those things transpired was up to me. The spirits didn’t count it as a lie.”</p><p>Alister shuffled the cards, then placed them face down on a pew. He drew the card from the top.</p><p>“Death,” he announced. “The card’s… Death.”</p><p>“That isn’t what that card means,” Rose said. “Death is about change, endings, not literal death.”</p><p>“The question was about death,” Alister snapped. “What else could it mean?”</p><p>“Another question,” I said, my voice hard. “Will that death be at Jaswan’s hands?”</p><p>Everyone fell silent again as Alister shuffled the deck. “The Wheel,” he said.</p><p>“That’s… what is that?” I frowned.</p><p>“It’s upside down,” he said, his voice quiet. “Bad luck. Could mean… that could be a no.”</p><p>“I don’t know about that,” I said, feeling my voice tremble and a measure of panic start to rise up inside of me. “Seems pretty ominous. One more. Rule of three.” Alister nodded. I took a second to think. Was there a way I could cheat the system, ask a question that somehow made my fate less grim? Maybe if I had some more time to think, but Rose looked impatient. “What will today bring?”</p><p>Another shuffle. Alister looked puzzled. “Five of cups. Upright.” He showed me the card. I squinted at it. A black robed man standing against a ruined landscape, several chalices on the ground around him. </p><p>“Huh? What’s that mean?”</p><p>“Failure, I think?” he said, turning the card in his hand as he looked at it. “I’m not totally sure. It’s kind of complicated. Not all bad.”</p><p>“Thanks for trying,” I said, “but it sounds pretty bad.”</p><p>“No,” he said, shaking his head. He showed me the card again. “Not necessarily. Look closely at the cups. The three in front of the figure are knocked down, representing missed opportunity, but the two behind him are still standing. Sounds like something to be hopeful about.”</p><p>“Really, Alister, thanks for trying. Doesn’t offset the death and bad luck, though.” I sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I’m honestly more worried about my parents than I am myself.”</p><p>“Good segue?” Rose asked, interrupting. Nobody responded. “Okay, good segue. We spoke with Father Juneau, whom I’m sure is currently listening in. They have a safe room in the basement, fully warded and soundproofed. Correct me if I’m wrong.”</p><p>“If the funeral home is attacked, we do indeed have a safe room for your civilian family members,” said Father Juneau, from where he stood behind Cathy and Roy. A few of us jumped, myself included. I hadn’t gotten very good vibes from the guy to begin with, but his habit of showing up suddenly was especially creepy. There was something voyeuristic about it, like he was watching everything from the shadows. I resolved not to use the bathroom here, if I could help it.</p><p>“So you did know about the potential attack,” I said.</p><p>“But of course,” he said smoothly. “It’s important to stay abreast of such possibilities.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said. “That was the other priest guy. Sorry, I’ve been meeting a lot of new people in a very short span of time.”</p><p>“Brother Eben was similarly informed. We have reinforced the wards and we are both prepared for a fight.”</p><p>“Goddammit,” I muttered. What was up with our supposed allies playing dumb? Did these people really hate Luna and Sam that much?</p><p>“What’s our strategy?” Roxy asked.</p><p>“I’ll take care of the non-practitioners,” Patrick volunteered. “We can have a poetry reading, maybe?”</p><p>“That’s stupid,” Rose said.</p><p>“But just sappy and sentimental enough to make people go along with it out of politeness,” Alister countered. “I like it.”</p><p>“How do I explain the… absences?” Patrick asked.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Rose said. “I can fuck with them a little, make them confused. If any of them try to leave, just say ‘no.’ Should make them compliant.”</p><p>“You want me to hypnotize people?” he asked, wide eyed.</p><p>“No, I’m hypnotizing them. You just make sure they don’t mess around. Don’t worry, there shouldn’t be any side effects.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t be? That isn’t reassuring.”</p><p>“Trust that us practitioners know what we’re doing,” Rose said. “I’ve been at this for about seven years now. Actually, we should probably do that now. Alister, battle plans. Patrick, you come with me.”</p><p>It was somewhat of a relief to know that Patrick had a conscience. He seemed like a pretty good dude, which I supposed was why he and Mitch were close. Even Roy seemed pretty okay. My diagnosis of the situation was that it was really Cathy who was the problem, the root cause of all of the familial toxicity, and that Pat and Roy were enablers.</p><p>“Talk about what we talked about,” Rose said to Alister. “Give them the rundown.”</p><p>They started across the room. I stared distantly at Luna, wondering if she was okay. All the references to her and her mother had probably gotten to her a little, which was why she was all the way over there away from the rest of us.</p><p>“Remember,” Rose added, turning back to look at us one last time. “Jaswan has an aura. Inverse square law.”</p><p>With that, Rose and Patrick headed outside on their quest to pied piper my parents, my uncle, and some kids. It was for the best, I told myself. There were eight of us left in the room, including the omnipresent Juneau and also Luna, who was now sitting against the altar, staring into space. I waved her over but she shook her head at me. Fair enough.</p><p>“I’m not going to lie to you guys,” Alister said. “It’s going to be a free-for-all. Rose has some allies we can summon—”</p><p>“As do I,” Roy said. “Not demons, just… mildly dark creatures which are bound to me.”</p><p>“I have my implement,” Cathy said, holding up her locket. “You’ll see what it does if you don’t already know.”</p><p>“My necklace,” Roxy said.</p><p>“Right,” Alister said. “Jamie, you can stick with me if you want. I know you’re inexperienced.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“Luna,” Roxy called out to her. “Come over here. This is important.”</p><p>Luna very hesitantly got to her feet and walked over to Roxy’s side, obviously intentionally distanced from me.</p><p>“I promise I’m not angry at you,” I told her, feeling hurt and kind of alone. She didn’t say anything back.</p><p>“If you can,” Alister said, “try to bind the faeries, but don’t kill them. We don’t want to make things any worse.”</p><p>“Worse than an all-out offensive?” Margot asked. She was standing a little bit back, towards the door. I’d forgotten she was even there. “She’s already declaring war on us by attacking.”</p><p>“Just… try,” Alister said. “I have a feeling they’ll get a lot more aggressive if they start dying.”</p><p>“How many of them are there?” I asked.</p><p>“Hundreds? I don’t think they’ll all come in at once, though. There’s an occupancy limit.”</p><p>“Correct,” Juneau said. “There’s also, in theory, a ward against fey, but we <em> are </em> dealing with magical royalty so I doubt it’ll be effective. Nor will the occupancy limit do very much, I fear. Please try not to burn the place down.” He looked directly at me as he said that last bit.</p><p>“Great,” I said, ignoring him. “So we’ll be outnumbered by a bunch of ancient magical humanoids. I like our odds.”</p><p>“Don’t underestimate us,” Alister said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the shit Rose and I have been through.”</p><p>“Um, hello?” asked a voice at the door. Alister spun around, hand going to the deck of cards in his jacket. He relaxed when he saw who was at the door. I did too.</p><p>“Aunt Tilda,” I said, pulling her into a tight hug. “Glad you’re okay.”</p><p>“Hi Jamie,” Peter said, entering behind her.</p><p>“It’s good to see you guys,” I said. “There’s a… thing going on downstairs.” I looked towards the back of the room to see Rose leading everyone else through the doors that led to the basement. “Just follow them.”</p><p>“Oh, alright,” Tilda said. “Sorry, are we interrupting something?”</p><p>“Not at all,” Alister said, genially. “Just head down to the poetry reading. We’ll be down a little later.”</p><p>“Oh, I see,” Tilda said. She looked at Aunt Cathy. “Cathy.”</p><p>“Matilda,” Cathy said, expressionless. “I won’t apologize, but it’s good that you’re here.”</p><p>“I suppose that’s all we’re gonna get,” Peter said. “Let’s go.”</p><p>They headed after Rose and Patrick, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone who mattered was safe. Now all that was left to do was…</p><p>A tall figure slipped through the door, and an atmosphere of disquiet followed. The air felt electrically charged, magically charged. My Vision sprang to life unprompted, and I couldn’t seem to turn it off. It took over my regular vision with colorful, kaleidoscopic patterns and gave me an intense rush of dissociation, which I refused to give into despite its intensity. I felt in that moment that if I were to give in even the slightest bit to the effect I would permanently lose sight of who I was, and that was really terrifying. I recognized that my mind was addled, though, and I reassured myself that I would have been warned in advance if that were possible. Probably. Maybe. I noted that the act of reassuring myself felt like I was talking to somebody else, and I suddenly lost all interest in the issue and felt a sense of total apathy.</p><p>In the wake of recent events, my mind meandered vaguely (which I visualized as my brain uncoiling into a snake and proceeding to slither away from my body) in the direction of Alan, that emporium guy who was constantly inebriated on faerie cocaine. Was this what it was like being Alan, drugged up and wandering around town stealing from people? It made my stomach turn to consider.</p><p>“Hello,” said the figure simply, in a cold, magically amplified voice that very literally sent chills up my spine. Even in my disoriented state, I found it to be pretty obvious who it was, and I knew everyone else knew it too. I felt and I embodied the collective dread and anguish of the people around me, even though I couldn’t really make them out among the vivid shapes which hovered before my vision. It suddenly registered that I could literally feel their emotions through my connections to them, which were being augmented. Very strange that her aura would connect me to their emotions, especially because that was such a specific, private, and highly individual thing, and also because emotions were high level neural processing, not that <em> any </em> kind of psychosomatic connection would necessarily be any easier or harder to transfer via literal magical aura. I assumed it was affecting our brains anyway, and that it wasn't toxic, or anything like that.</p><p>It was way too early for me to be experiencing this. Heroes in stories usually got a long grace period, along with some much-needed training, before they were forced to face down the big bad. Except this wasn’t a story, and I wasn’t a hero. It was really hitting me just how outrageous the whole thing was, and it was tripping me out. Who was to say I wasn’t just going crazy? Probably not, because my brain was mostly working right otherwise. Or what if… I had actually been drugged with something and all of my memories of the past few days had been tampered with and implanted by whatever psychedelic I’d been given? No, it was all a consistent narrative in my mind, and that meant the whole thing would have to be intentional and artificial. And that would also imply that magic existed. There was just no escaping it.</p><p>I struggled harder against my Vision, trying to will myself lucid. It worked, kind of, and I managed to “close my eyes,” so to speak, though it wasn’t necessarily helping, like how closing your eyes in the face of an extremely bright light didn’t actually protect you at all from that light. I imagined myself compressing the effect into a ball and pushed against it, my fingers going to my temples. I felt the aura subside a little bit, and I was momentarily impressed with myself before I noticed that everyone else was recovering, just a little bit. Well, not everyone. In fact, only the powerful people here looked like they were remotely back to normal. Everybody else… </p><p>The tall woman at the door wore a crimson dress that trailed behind her for several feet and a circular golden crown that came to three cross-like points. It was incredibly difficult to make out very much else about her. I could barely even look at her directly, there was so much magic present in the room. I could see now that the others in the room had been similarly disabled by her entrance, except for Father Juneau, who stood impassively against a wall. Luna and Roxy were covering their eyes, and Margot, who was closest to the door, had been forced to her knees.</p><p>Faerie Queen Jaswan raised her hand and pointed directly at me. “Come. Walk with me, Riker. We have much to discuss.”</p><p>Alister was the first to recover enough to speak. “Hang on,” he said. “Why do you want Jamie?”</p><p>“Y-yeah,” I stammered. “Me?”</p><p>“I give my oath that s/he will not be harmed,” Jaswan said. ‘S/he’ was the only way to describe the strange word that came out of her mouth, both pronouns being uttered simultaneously. I shuddered involuntarily at the sound of it. Well fuck. Luna had mentioned to me that the name thing would cause some confusion, but I hadn’t expected <em> that. </em>I really hoped that was something Jaswan was doing intentionally, and that it wasn’t some magical superposition bullshit. A question for the professor maybe, if I even survived long enough to meet him. </p><p>“That isn’t the problem,” Alister said.</p><p>“Oh? Is there a problem, Behaim man?”</p><p>It sounded like a perfectly normal question to me aside from the odd inhuman tone of her voice, but Alister seized up, his entire body shaking. He collapsed to the floor carefully, apparently still in control enough to ease himself down, and his body went on shaking as he sat there leaning on his arms behind him, fighting his spasming facial muscles in an attempt to make a grimace. He made a helpless grunting noise, sounding more uncomfortable than hurt.</p><p>“I will speak to Jamie Riker,” the Queen said, releasing Alister from whatever hold she had on him, leaving him to fall back and lie prone, his hands going up to his eyes. “And no one else.” She sounded pretty normal, actually, now that I had heard her speak a bit. There was something about her demeanor which left me in awe of her and actually made me like her, even as she was completely horrifying to behold.</p><p>Inverse square law, Rose had said. If I was going on a walk with the Queen, I had to keep my distance.</p><p>“I’ll come,” I said, “but if you’re just picking me to talk to because you think you can manipulate me, I <em> will </em> know.”</p><p>“I’m sure you will feel that way,” she said, making no effort to deny it. “But I am interested primarily in who you are as the newest… what was it? Piece on the chessboard? I will not deny that you are a pawn, whereas I am a queen.”</p><p>“Primarily interested. I caught your word choice.”</p><p>“Good,” she said, smiling at me with a radiance that almost triggered my Vision again. The sensation made me nauseous. “It is foolish of one to presume that those around them lack ulterior motives. Even allies seek to build rapport in the interest of their own future prospects.”</p><p>“Are you suggesting that you’re an ally of mine?”</p><p>“Not currently, though I suspect that may change in the near future.”</p><p>Unsure of how to respond, I looked to the others for support and found… well, nothing. The Queen and I were standing in an empty building, a derelict hall similar in appearance to the funeral home, but which was crumbling and full of rubble. The windows were blocky and broken in places, the ground covered in glass and chunks of the ceiling. It was a much larger space than the funeral home, and the back opened up into an even bigger area which I couldn’t really make out from where I was by the entryway, but which looked like a factory area filled with rusty 19th century machines and small piles of coal. There was a toolbox against a wall off to the side.</p><p>The Queen’s Vision fuckery was impacting how I saw the scene, a strange overlay filtering out the ruin and decay. I leaned into it a bit and suddenly began to see the world around me as something else entirely.</p><p>It was a vibrant, colorful palace, light streaming through stained glass windows depicting some kind of fey mythology. The walls and ceiling were replete with fanciful artwork and decor that were like an alien’s reinterpretation of rococo profligacy, with strange curvilinear figures that resembled plants. I recognized them as being similar to the ones written in red on the crates in Luna and Sam’s basement.</p><p>The colors of the palace were perfectly attuned to the Vision’s unique spectrum, so much so that they hurt to look at directly. Whereas nature was a swirling sea of deep blues and greens, the faeries had figured out a way to capture the entire ordinary set of colors, and then some. Every wavelength from infrared to ultraviolet was represented here, if that was indeed how the Vision worked to expand the colors I could see. It probably wasn’t, because there were sections of artwork that hinted at deeper colors, an actual ultraviolet: one small mural in the far left corner of the tented cathedral ceiling depicted a young faerie boy grappling with a bear, hand gripping paw. The bear’s pelt was a rich deep violet-brown color, but certain sections seemed to lose their magical luster and become almost two dimensional where it would be natural for darker, richer purples to have been used. They probably were, and I just couldn’t see them; it seemed that even the Vision didn’t make up for the lack of extra cones in my eyes.</p><p>I didn’t have time to admire all of the details I saw, though. I turned off the Vision so that I saw the empty factory again and turned back to the Queen.</p><p>“How did we get here?”</p><p>“Magic,” she said. “How else?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 2.3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That isn’t an answer,” I said. “We just… transitioned seamlessly from the funeral home to your palace, and I didn’t notice or feel anything weird.”</p><p>Slowly, patronizingly, she locked eyes with me and pointed at herself. “Faerie Queen.”</p><p>“What do you even want with me?” I asked. “I know next to nothing about what’s going on here. I don’t even know the nature of this deal that destroyed all the spirits. Sent them to hell, whatever.”</p><p>“You single-handedly defeated an adult faerie of my court,” she said. “That’s interesting. You were meant to have died.”</p><p>“Dumb luck,” I told her, willfully ignoring the bit at the end. “I would have died anyway, if it hadn’t been for some random fey… gaboda showing up.”</p><p>“Ah,” she said. “Harmless, then. Calarok was convinced it was a demonic presence. Incredibly stupid, but then I remember well the follies of my own youth.”</p><p>I stared at her face, and for the first time I noticed that she did look pretty old. Maybe like she was in her 60s, in human years.</p><p>“Do you experience the passage of time faster?” I asked.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“I mean, does a year for you pass the same as a year for us? Is a 22-year-old faerie about as mature as I am, making you… infinitely more mature than any living human? Or are Ezrul and I roughly equivalent?”</p><p>“We all regret Ezrul’s departure from the court, but do not hold it against him. He is simply mildly existential, as many young faeries who have witnessed fey winter are wont to feel, and he will return to us once he has learned the necessary lessons. Do not make the mistake of placing yourself on equal footing with him. Humans are but children who live and die in their infancy.”</p><p>“I guess that answers my question.”</p><p>“Come,” she said, stepping away from the doorway and towards the larger hall in the back. My Vision flickered on as she brushed past me, and I followed her, marveling at the architecture as I went. It was especially interesting to turn the Vision off and back on. The ceiling was flat in the factory, but arched and triangular in the palace. I came upon a medium-sized rock on the factory floor, and placed my foot on it, then turned my Vision on and let my foot fall to the floor. Switching back to the factory, I noted that I couldn’t change back my perception of the section of floor where the rock was.</p><p>The larger area of the factory filled with machines, when augmented with the Vision, was actually a large black-and-white marble hall with regularly distributed ionic pillars which held up a second level terrace that looked out onto the floor. There was a staircase to either side leading up to the second level, and a long rectangular table in the back. Jaswan strode around the table, her dress train catching on the leg as she went, and threw open a set of double doors at the back of the hall.</p><p>I followed her through and found myself in a massive, lush square garden with a glass ceiling, absolutely breathtaking even relative to the beautiful palace halls I’d just walked through. There was a single lone faerie guard here, wearing a lightweight silver suit. He tipped his hat at us and stepped out through a side door.</p><p>Jaswan glided past a row of translucent, prismatic flowers that filtered the sunlight into rainbow beams that shot out from the tips of their petals. I touched one of them and found it to be hard, crystalline. I pulled it down a little bit and let go, causing the stem to spring back and send the flower spinning backwards, projecting a show of multicolored lights onto my blazer.</p><p>I was starting to feel a little funny, though. I felt ethereal, lightheaded, uncannily calm in light of the danger I faced, being here. I walked past the flowers and after Jaswan, who had entered a small circular maze of hedges which functioned spatially as the nucleus of the garden. The hedges were cut short, so I could see over them. Jaswan had walked to the center, where there was a plain two-tiered marble fountain that spewed water from jets placed around the top in a circular pattern, cascading down from the top tier to the bottom. She seated herself carefully at what I assumed was a bench.</p><p>The strange feeling only became more intense as I followed her into the maze and took my own seat at the bench across the small clearing from her. It was a few wooden planks, arranged to match the contour of a seated humanoid, with ornate black railing making up the back and the sides. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it did what it was supposed to do. Jaswan was so tall that I could see her over the fountain; nevertheless, I scooted over to the side so that I could make her out more clearly.</p><p>“Beautiful garden,” I commented.</p><p>“Superficial,” she said, with a sigh. She fingered the hedge behind her and pulled a rose from nowhere, eyeing it with disinterest. “The familiar ceases to be beautiful, once you’ve lived as long as I, and you realize that beauty is found instead in the unexpected, in the novel. I think that you’re quite beautiful, Jamie Riker.”</p><p>I blushed involuntarily, conscious of but unfazed by how creepy that sounded. I was entirely at peace here in Queen Jaswan’s palace garden. It was probably a lot easier and nicer to be a faerie, to live for hundreds of years in a post-scarcity magical commune, under the rule of this exceedingly friendly and thoughtful woman.</p><p>“I think we both know,” she continued, “that you are not long for this world.”</p><p>Welp. So much for feeling pleasantly detached.</p><p>“Beauty is fleeting, like a rose in bloom.” She crumbled the flower in her hand and let the petals flutter to the ground.</p><p>“Very cliché,” I said. “I think you should get to the point.”</p><p>“Cliché, perhaps, but clichés exist for good reason, so long as you don’t fall too deep into the maw of routine and uniformity. When a faerie lets go and plunges into this precipice, so begins their wintry twilight, the inevitable consequence of thousands of years of boredom.</p><p>“I am bored by many things, Jamie Riker, but I am not a common faerie. I see the big picture with a clarity that few others can claim to possess. I can see where you’re going, and I have intercepted you on your journey because I find it to be very interesting.”</p><p>Something was wrong. The sensation from before was even stronger now, tugging at my insides like mini alarms going off, trying to tell me something important. I couldn’t imagine what it was, I was so transfixed by this elder being who might as well have been a god. What was I missing? Why was I feeling so out of it?</p><p>It hit me like a ton of bricks. My <em> Vision. </em>I wasn’t supposed to use it for extended periods of time, lest I be lost to the spirit realm or whatever. Right, fuck. I turned it off, and suddenly I was sitting in a junkyard, surrounded by decaying hunks of metal and old, broken construction vehicles. There was no fountain between me and the Faerie Queen, only junk and trash. We were sitting on two flat rocks, much less comfortable than the benches.</p><p>The Queen smiled faintly. “The folly of youth,” she said quietly, as if to herself.</p><p>“Tell me what you want from me,” I said.</p><p>“So demanding,” she said. “Alright, allow me to explain. You may have noticed that the Legere demesne contains some… fey items.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Crates full of magical artifacts, invaluable. Surely you’ve seen them.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said. Had she read my mind earlier? Was that within her capabilities? Was it worth trying to figure out a roundabout way to deny it?</p><p>“Don’t bother trying to hide it,” she said. “You have a terrible poker face.”</p><p>“I—okay, so what are you saying? I can’t give away something that isn’t mine.”</p><p>“No,” she said, “but you can grant me access to the house now that you have been a guest there for three consecutive days. I walk in, take back what’s mine, and then I walk out.”</p><p>“Take back what’s yours?”</p><p>“Your Luna and Sam stole my crates from me,” she said, her magic flaring in her anger. My Vision flickered, but I held it down. I wasn’t willing to risk any more of that for a while.</p><p>“They probably had a good reason for what they did,” I replied, my voice hard. I was beginning to notice that using words with built-in uncertainty like ‘probably’ or ‘maybe’ circumvented the rules against lying, especially within the exclusion zone. I doubted it was that simple when spirits were at play. Maybe they would exact a price of power proportional to the certainty of the claim made. Yet another thing to try to remember to ask about, if I could keep it all straight in my head. I vowed to myself that if I lived through this mess I would start writing down my questions as they came to me, or maybe come up with a way to record them magically. Begin dictation if I snapped with both hands.</p><p>Now that my Vision was off, it was easier to perceive the Queen as an actual, tangible threat. She <em> terrified </em>me, if I was being honest with myself. She had promised that no harm would come to me, but that did not necessarily preclude torturing me with intense discomfort, which I was certain she was capable of. Plus, she could always just change her mind and hurt me, as long as she hadn’t intended it from the start. In fact, I suspected there were several ways for the Queen to take advantage of the properties of the exclusion zone to fuck me over, here.</p><p>“Very likely,” she agreed, “but that is unrelated to the matter at hand. I want those crates. They’re mine. They were taken from me, and you can give them to me.” With that, she leaned forward, fixing me with a stern glare. I shifted back on the rock a little bit, uncomfortable. The atmosphere of the area was different, the calming effects of the Vision no longer masking the harsh reality. It was no longer quiet and tranquil, but silent and eerie. </p><p>“Can’t you just smash a hole in the house and enter that way?” I asked. “Why do you need my cooperation?”</p><p>“I cannot,” she said, shaking her head. “Even if I could, there are wards which prevent fey from entering through a hole in the house, unlike a certain feckless pixiemonger.”</p><p>“What would be the consequences should I decline?”</p><p>Jaswan smiled at me. “I am handing you an opportunity to shift the balance of things, to change your fate.” She paused. “To prevent the death which hangs over your future.”</p><p>“I’m—” I took a breath. “You’re not threatening me?”</p><p>“I am threatening you,” she said. “Be thankful you made that a question, and that there are no lost souls around to hear you.”</p><p>“Lost—”</p><p>“The spirits, proverbially.” She grinned broadly, revealing rows of sharp teeth, far too many than should have fit in her mouth, like a shark, or a lamprey. “Faerie souls are cultivated, brought back from the beyond. We feed them, reinstate them as wraiths, and we grow in strength with our ancestors’ power behind us. Do not take my hospitality for granted, descendent of the one who cast my mother into the inferno.” As if to punctuate her statement, there was a faint, distant boom like a thunderclap. I looked up at bright blue skies.</p><p>“What was that?” I asked.</p><p>Jaswan said nothing, instead gracefully crossing her legs and leaning her arm against her knee so that her chin rested on her fist. The Thinker.</p><p>“Wait a second,” I said. “The funeral home. This whole time, you’ve been stalling me?” I felt a rising panic. “That’s why nobody’s here in your palace. They’re all at the funeral home. My friends and family have been in danger, and you’ve been keeping me away from them? Why, god damn you? Why me, and not someone powerful, like Roy? Or Alister?”</p><p>“Correct on all counts. You’re a wild card, Jamie Riker. The Fool. Quite frankly, you fit the bill more than the last miserable wretch who drew that card, given your… androgyny, your impotence, your pure, <em>delicious</em> chastity.”</p><p>“I have to get going,” I said hastily, standing and turning to leave.</p><p>“Sit down!” she barked, and my knees gave out from under me. I collapsed back onto the rock, propping myself up so I could look up at her in horror. I half expected her to stand, to pace, to act the part of a movie villain, but she just sat there, posture immaculate, glaring at me. “Your audience with me has not yet expired, boy/girl.” There was that strange bifurcation again. Her lips fractured open to differing degrees, her jaw dipping deeper for the masculine. Instead of seeing them overlap, I saw them as two separate instances, somehow, like the universe was splitting in two. I wasn’t even sure how I was perceiving the duality. Whatever was going on, that had to be a <em> really </em>bad sign.</p><p>“Grant me access to your friends’ demesne, and I will send you back to the funeral home to help your friends.”</p><p>“Counteroffer,” I said, feeling ridiculous as I did. I quite literally had no leg to stand on. My knees felt crumpled. I couldn’t move or extend them properly. “I grant you access for the sole purpose of retrieving your crates, and you call off your attack.”</p><p>“Interesting proposal,” she said, appearing to think it over. “I decline.”</p><p>“Let me go, then. Fix whatever you did to my legs and let me leave. There’s nothing left for me to do here.”</p><p>“Switch on your Vision,” she suggested. “Witness me in my glory, and know that you are nothing before me.”</p><p>“You said before we came here that we could be allies, that you suspected we might be. What happened to that?”</p><p>"I did not say that," she said. "I said that we may be allies in the near future. 'Near' is a very relative term, especially for me. If you survive for long enough despite yourself, external circumstances could force us into an alliance. Now turn on your Vision, and kneel."</p><p>"No," I spat.</p><p>“I could force you,” she said, without any particular emphasis.</p><p>“Let me the fuck go!” I shouted, pushing myself sideways off of the rock so that I landed in a painful roll. I dragged my body towards the door back to the factory floor, the ground beneath me hard, rocky, and covered in sharp springs and other bits of scrap metal that scraped against my useless legs.</p><p>“Fine,” I heard her sigh, and I found my feet again. I stumbled to the door and tugged on it. It didn’t budge, and with a note of dread I spotted the padlock holding it shut. I looked back at Jaswan, who was still seated on her rock, and fumbled with the rusty piece of junk for a couple of seconds, horrified that the Queen had trapped me inside the scrap heap garden with her. Wait. Oh, fuck me, of course. I turned on the Vision, and found that the doors before me were magically open again. I felt a wave of relief, no doubt amplified by the strange psychic effects of my magical sight, and ran as fast as I could back out through the palace, switching my Vision off as soon as I was out the front doors and out on the street. Some part of me had been certain the Queen intended to keep me trapped in there forever.</p><p>A surge of powerful magic came from somewhere behind me, and I turned towards the factory as I stepped back across the road, expecting to see something. Nothing, but the magic kept coming, stronger and stronger, forcing my Vision back on and intensifying the hold it had on me, as it had in the funeral home. I sprinted from the factory, pounding the pavement as fast as my legs could carry me, but I couldn’t outrun the pace of the powerful force that was now pressing against my eardrums, pounding inside my head. A streetlight close to the factory shattered loudly, another one across the street following soon after, and soon I too was on the ground again, covering my head as glass around me continued to break and the dizzying sensation of my Vision increased in intensity until I was worried I would have permanent brain damage.</p><p>Then it stopped, as quickly as it had started, and I was left shaking, crouched on the ground, covering my head.</p><p><em> Witness me in my glory, </em>she’d said. What would have happened to me if I’d stuck around any more than I had, if I’d struggled with the padlock just a second too long?</p><p>Still shaking, I got to my feet, and started to become aware of the people who had begun to gather around me. People <em> lived </em> here, on this street, across from the factory. I looked and I saw that all of their windows had been shattered.</p><p>"Is anyone hurt?" someone cried out from down the street.</p><p>"I don't think so!" came the reply. "Go check the houses."</p><p>“That old factory,” an old man was saying. “I always knew there was something not right about it. Hasn’t been used in years, pah! Why didn’t they tear it down years ago, then?”</p><p>“Some kind of earthquake,” someone else was saying. “Should we call someone?”</p><p>“I already called 9-1-1,” said yet another voice, this one approaching me. I looked and saw a young woman in green. She looked concerned. “Are you okay, miss? Are you hurt? There’s a piece of glass on your shoulder.”</p><p>“I’m—” I started, brushing off the bit of glass. “It didn’t cut me. Sorry, I can’t stick around. I have to be at my—I have to be somewhere.”</p><p>“No, no, no,” said the old man who’d spoken earlier. A small crowd had assembled by now, more jogging over from the next street over. “I saw you exit the factory. What did you do? Did you rig an explosive?”</p><p>“I didn’t do anything,” I said, pushing my way through the congregation. “Sorry, I need to go.”</p><p>“You need to be here when the police come, so you can provide a witness report,” someone said, gripping my arm tightly as I tried to slip by. “Don’t go anywhere.”</p><p>I pulled my arm from their grip and ran off in the direction that took me furthest from the factory. There were shouts of alarm and anger from behind me, but I didn’t look back. Nobody seemed to be coming after me, at least. I looked around and recognized that I was in a residential area of Carthage, but I didn’t know what direction the funeral home was in. I tried to switch on my Vision, but felt nothing. I tried again, and again there was nothing. Had I lied? Had I forfeited my power without realizing it? No, I didn’t think so. That left… Jaswan. She must have pulled that stunt to fry my Vision and kill my sense of direction. I started to panic.</p><p>No. I had to stay focused and rational. The lives of people I cared about likely depended on it. Juneau Astrid’s was off of the main road somewhere, so all I had to do was find the main road. I slowed my run to a jog in an attempt to be unassuming. It wouldn’t do if someone else suspected I had something to do with the magical factory explosion and stopped me.</p><p>I didn’t relax until I couldn’t see the factory or any of the neighboring houses. Even then I wasn’t totally reassured. I kept moving in the direction with the biggest, most clustered houses, postulating that the buildings closer to the town center would be prime real estate. I could only pray I wasn’t going in the entirely wrong direction.</p><p>I slowed to a walk as I reached the main street. I couldn’t even feel relief anymore, only a distant sense of dread. I stopped behind a small restaurant and scribbled the fire rune onto my new pad, then sent a quick prayer to Aiya. Okay, so my Vision was disabled but I still had my power. I hoped the hit to my Vision wasn’t a permanent one.</p><p>I kept jogging down the main street, trying to remember where we’d turned off. It was kind of a  confusing town center, with multiple different sections of the street that looked very similar. Lots of gas stations, fast food, little shops. Eventually I came to a bridge, which was very pretty but I didn’t really have time to admire it. There were big welcome banners attached to the street lights which advertised a farmer’s market. Another sign welcomed me to the Village of Carthage, even though I was pretty sure all the houses and buildings I’d just passed had also been a part of Carthage.</p><p>I passed a bicyclist and a couple of other joggers as I crossed the railroad tracks and headed into the village proper. Lots of shops here, and lots of people walking around town. I kept looking down each side street I passed to see if I recognized anything. The dress shoes I was wearing weren’t very good for running, and made clunky clopping noises as I pushed myself onward. One or two heads turned my way as I passed.</p><p>Finally, I spotted a familiar red brick community church on a corner and turned off onto the road where the funeral home was located. I picked up my pace, passing a restaurant and a few odd shops, including one that apparently sold custom neon signs. I crossed another set of railroad tracks before I reached the familiar, ivy-covered building. I pushed my way inside.</p><p>There must have been a ward on the building against emitting noise, because as soon as I crossed the threshold I was bombarded with a hundred sounds at once. The practitioners stood in a loose circle, surrounded on all sides by faeries dressed in their Sunday best, black tuxes and dresses that didn't look out of place among the guests. Some of them carried pieces of wood and a couple of them had more sophisticated weapons, a literal sword and some kind of pole with a knife at the end like a bayonet.</p><p>The pews had been shoved to the sides of the room haphazardly, chalk circles drawn all over the wood floor. Two of the four windows were shattered, glass littering the floor. It looked like it had mostly been swept under the pews, but a stray piece here or there was crushed underfoot by one of the participants of the battle.</p><p>Without thinking, I called upon Aiya again and flung a fireball at a faerie who hadn’t seen me come in. She spun and caught it before it hit her, then hissed at me and lobbed it back towards me. I leaped to the side and bashed the side of my foot against a pew that had been thrown into the corner. Even through my shoe, it hurt like a bitch, and I grimaced at another faerie who had just turned around to see what had happened. Roxy, from within the circle, took advantage of the distraction to send a concentrated jet of water at the faerie’s feet, which pushed him off of his feet and onto his ass. Alister slipped through the new hole in the wall of faeries and came over to my side. The battle between faerie and practitioner raged on.</p><p>“How long?” I asked, breathless.</p><p>“We managed to hold them off for a while,” Alister said. “They got inside maybe five minutes ago.”</p><p>“And the boom? There was a loud noise. I heard it all the way from the Queen’s palace.”</p><p>“Um, no, there wasn’t,” he said, sounding confused. “That was probably a trick.”</p><p>“You sure?” I asked, pulling out my pad and writing down another rune. There was some sort of invisible protective bubble around the practitioners, held up by either Luna or Rose, I couldn’t tell which, but it didn’t seem like it would hold much longer. “What do we even—”</p><p>A pair of faeries leaped through the broken windows, cutting themselves on the jagged glass. They landed on all fours, ties dangling onto the ground. Another two followed them in, outnumbering us by about two to one.</p><p>“I call upon—” I began, but the faerie nearest me tackled me to the ground, knocking the wind from my lungs. My notepad was launched into the puddle of water that Roxy had just put on the floor, drenching it. “Auughhh,” I shrieked, kicking the faerie off of me and clambering back to my feet. One of the faeries surrounding the practitioners slipped on my notepad and fell over, giving me an opening to retrieve it and also to step hard on the face of the faerie, crushing his nose under my heel. He let out a low moan and tried to clutch at my leg, but I hopped away, back to where Alister was now fighting three faeries at once.</p><p>He was… rewinding them. That was the best way I could describe his fighting style. Every time they got close to landing a blow, he undid the actions that had led them to that point, and they went back through the motions until they were back where they had started. It seemed to be pissing them off.</p><p>The rune on my notepad had been ruined by the water soaking it through, so I redrew it on an untouched portion of the paper, drying the whole thing off as best I could.</p><p>Roy whistled, as if he was calling a dog, and I heard a howl from somewhere below us in response. It was an empty sounding howl, something simultaneously canine and human but with the inflection of neither. The faeries who were fighting Alister turned to look as something galloped up the basement stairs and burst through the door.</p><p>One of the most horrific things I’d ever seen emerged from the basement, a gorilla-like figure that ran on its knuckles, except its body was that of an emaciated human being, skin charred black like a mummy, limbs a little too long, with thick patches of hair under its armpits and where its genitals and nipples should have been. There was a Japanese-style theatrical demon mask strapped to its face, expressing a pained smile.</p><p>It howled again, louder this time, and charged the circle of faeries, who scattered as it approached. The practitioners within the circle took the opportunity to back up towards me and Alister. I noted a conspicuous lack of priests among their number. The faeries who had been attacking Alister took one look at the thing and retreated to where the rest of the faeries had gathered near the altar in the opposing corner of the room.</p><p>“What the hell is that thing?” I asked, as it strolled into position between us and the faeries, situated so that its butt was eminently visible to us. The strap that kept the mask on its face was melted into the flesh on the back of its head.</p><p>“That’s the Hound,” Roy said. “Long story, but it’s on our side.”</p><p>A faerie I hadn’t even noticed before dropped from the ceiling, landing on the Hound’s back. It pummeled the thing into the ground, but the Hound was more resilient than the faerie had anticipated, and it clawed them with sharp dragon-like fingernails, getting a grip on them and bowling them into the gathered faeries, who scattered.</p><p>The Hound let out another low bellow that vibrated my bones as another pair of faeries climbed in through the windows, and the fight began again in earnest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 2.4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Draw another protective circle, quickly,” Rose demanded, as several faeries tackled the Hound, the rest of the contingent skirting the edges of the room. The Hound refused to go down, tearing through its assailants one by one with its claws. The faeries kept trying to force it onto its back, but every time they attempted to use magic on the thing, their powers fizzled out. And although every single one of them looked like they were in pretty good physical condition, they were struggling to move the foul creature in spite of its emaciated, lightweight appearance and their combined strength. Their suits were tripping them up too, so more than a couple of them had stripped off their jackets and accessories. They were yelling at each other in what I assumed to be a faerie language.</p><p>The Hound’s presence seemed to darken the room, and I kept catching indistinct whiffs of its body odor, a smell so fetid and nauseating it made me back up into Alister, who steadied me with a gently placed hand on my shoulder.</p><p>Roxy and Luna got to work immediately, drawing a chalk circle large enough for us all to fit inside. Margot stepped towards the incoming faeries and drew a small dagger from what looked to be her back pocket. Roy joined her, spreading his legs into a defensive posture, though he didn’t appear to have an implement on him. Cathy stood behind them. Following Margot’s lead, I drew my knife from my back pocket. I doubted it would do much against an adult faerie; it certainly hadn’t helped me in either fight back at the hotel, but it was at least the bare minimum of self-defense.</p><p>“Good,” Rose said, once the circle was complete, then she barked: “chalk!” Luna tossed her the piece she was holding, then stalked over to my side.</p><p>“Sorry about earlier,” she whispered, as we stepped into the circle and Rose drew runes around us. “You okay? You look terrible.”</p><p>Before I had a chance to respond, the faeries charged our allies and the noise level in the room increased tenfold. Margot, both hands clutching her dagger, sent out several white bolts of light from the tip, wincing at the knockback. The faeries deftly avoided these, leaping and cartwheeling out of the way like Cirque du Soleil acrobats, one faerie even extending his legs out and touching his toes in midair before landing. He let out a gleeful laugh, cut short by a hard kick to the face from Roy, who had somehow gained several inches since I’d last looked—no, wait, he was actually hovering.</p><p>“Done,” Rose announced. “Fight from in here.”</p><p>Margot, Roy, and Cathy, however, were surrounded by five faeries at this point. Cathy faked one of them out with a weak punch aimed at their face, then quickly swung her other arm around and sent them sprawling. Margot was in combat with two at once, both wielding blades twice as long as her own. They seemed to be staying far away from her dagger, though I couldn’t see why given the way her body were angled. Roy, for his part, was doing some intense airborne gymnastic maneuvers, spinning and kicking in ways that I was certain defied the laws of physics, able to reverse his momentum on a dime. His momentum did seem to be conserved, though—he had to press himself against the floor every now and again to recenter himself—so maybe scratch that part about defying physics. One of the faeries kept trying to cast that purple fire spell, but it kept going out as quickly as it flickered to life.</p><p>I looked at Alister, who was concentrating intensely on the fight with the Hound, and I saw that the faeries kept getting rewinded just as they appeared to be gaining an advantage, feeling out the creature’s weaknesses. This gave the Hound just enough maneuverability to seriously injure two of the faeries, slicing open their stomachs. No gore came out, only blood, as they clutched at their twin wounds. Limply, dripping blood as they went, they retreated to the corner, where I assumed they’d be working to heal themselves.</p><p>“None of their magic should work in here,” Rose said. “It’s already starting to piss them off, see? Sooner or later, they’re going to find a way to take the fight outside or else they’ll want to bring in the real guns.”</p><p>“None of their magic? Tell that to those faeries in the corner,” I said, pointing. Rose followed my finger.</p><p>“They’re already dead,” she said. “Whatever this thing is—” Here she pointed at the Hound. “—it’s pretty good at… well, it’s pretty scary. I’m impressed.”</p><p>I heard a low moan of agony and turned to look. Margot had fallen, bleeding heavily from a gash in her leg. Cathy and Roy circled around her, holding back the faeries who looked more than a little beaten up.</p><p>Cathy opened her locket, and I felt a tugging sensation in my gut, like one of my organs was being torn open. Disturbed by the sensation, I put a hand to my stomach and noticed that a few others were doing that too, including some of the faeries. Roy was the only one in the room who looked totally unbothered. I looked back over and saw that Margot was… on her feet again, unharmed, no blood visible on her person.</p><p>“Time magic?” I asked, my mouth agape in amazement.</p><p>“Definitely not, or else I would know about it,” Alister said, shaking his head. “It feels more sinister.”</p><p>“Timeline manipulation,” Roxy offered. “At least, I think that’s what it is. Either way, it feels more sinister because it’s actually <em> real. </em> Most chronomancy is just glamour, other magic disguised as—”</p><p>There was a crash as the Hound hurled a small band of disoriented faeries out the unbroken window furthest from us. It clapped loudly and leaped up and down, howling like a monkey.</p><p>“Holy shit,” I breathed.</p><p>Several more faeries poured in through the far window, rejoining the fight against the Hound. The other faeries in the room shouted something at them. One of them tried to surreptitiously slip past the Hound towards the main entrance. but Alister rewound him back to the window.</p><p>“There’s too many of them,” I said to Rose. “You mentioned big guns?”</p><p>“Non-faerie fey, scarier things that can circumvent the wards. They usually don’t send them in unless it’s absolutely necessary.”</p><p>“What’s the game plan then? I asked. “We keep fighting until they send those guys in, and then we all just die?”</p><p>“We want to send them a message,” Rose said. “Juneau and his guys have some emergency protocols in place for when it gets to that point, and then they should retreat.”</p><p>“No offense,” I said, wincing as I felt that same tugging sensation in my gut again. I looked over at Cathy, who was now standing over a faerie, a thin rectangular high heel digging into the guy’s chest. “I guess it’s not any offense to you, but I don’t trust that Juneau guy as far as I can throw him. He isn’t even helping.”</p><p>“Whatever,” Rose said, before reaching out in front of her and pulling a sword from thin air. Fresh blood dripped from her hand even though she was only gripping the hilt, and she charged one of the faeries who had just come in, spearing them through the small of their back and pushing them to the ground with her foot as she pulled it from their corpse. One of the other faeries, who I’d noticed trying to cut into the Hound, a task I wasn’t sure was even possible, spun to face Rose and met her sword with one of her own, gritting her vampiric faerie fangs as they pressed their blades together in a contest of strength. The faerie won out and sent Rose’s sword clattering across the ground. A different faerie reached down to grab it by the hilt and screamed, blood dripping from his hand. He dropped it as fast as he’d picked it up, giving Rose an opening to dive for it. She grabbed it before it fell, then rolled in the direction of the organ, where she had some space to fight the female faerie properly.</p><p>What was I even supposed to do? Alister was doing his best to fuck with the faeries by sending them backwards at inopportune moments. I wasn’t sure how he gauged that, but he was doing a pretty good job of creating openings for the others to capitalize on. Luna was casting spells at the faeries, but their natural sensitivity to magic seemed to keep them on their toes and away from whatever she sent at them. Roxy was trying to use her… necklace powers, but they seemed to be water-themed, and I wasn’t sure how much of an effect that would have here. Just as that thought was crossing my mind, though, she created a blue cloud and sent it towards the Hound, causing the faeries to scatter. The Hound didn’t manage to get out of the way, and was struck by a blue bolt of lightning. My heart sank. The Hound did not. </p><p>Blue bolts of lightning crackling around its body, it lumbered towards a pair of faeries who had run away to the windows and shot electricity at them just as several more faeries poured inside. Two or three of them were electrocuted by virtue of their sheer proximity to the thing. The Hound retreated to the center of the room, cutting off some faeries who were getting close to the circle we stood in. The electricity subsided.</p><p>Three faeries who had taken advantage of the distraction to skirt the edge of the room to the back hastily slipped through the door and down the stairs.</p><p>“Three faeries, basement,” I shouted over the buzz of electricity and the clamor of the sword fight being waged near the organ. Rose and the faerie woman seemed well matched.</p><p>“I saw them,” Alister muttered. “You aren’t doing anything up here; go after them.”</p><p>“I thought you said to stick by you.”</p><p>“I need to stay up here, for support. Go with the Legere girl.”</p><p>Luna and I looked at each other.</p><p>“Okay,” I confirmed. “Let’s go. Are my parents safe down there?”</p><p>“Patrick and the others are in a safe room, warded against detection,” Cathy said, limping into the circle. Roy and Margot were right behind her. The faeries they’d been fighting were either dead or downed. “Go.”</p><p>“Get out of here,” I heard Rose say, two swords pointed at the faerie woman she’d been fighting. The faerie looked around for help, then, finding none, retreated around the circle and out the front door. A few moments later, five faeries poured in through the window.</p><p>“Faerie sword,” Rose announced, stepping back into the circle. She dropped it onto the floor, along with the other sword she’d been holding. There was blood on both of them, and I finally saw why. Rose’s sword had multiple sharp spikes protruding from the hilt. It was a nasty looking piece of work. “Who wants it?”</p><p>A good beginner implement, maybe? I pocketed my knife.</p><p>“I’ll take it,” I said, bending down to pick it up. I’d never held a sword before. It was heavier than I expected, even though it was short and thin. The hilt was made of something that felt like rubber, comfortable, with ridges for my fingers to sit between. I didn’t really know how to use it, but I figured I’d pick it up as I went. Maybe I could receive training in the ancient art of magical swordsmanship from some wise, mystical old elf later on, if things went well. Maybe Cathy’s timeline magic could change my fate?</p><p>I angled the blade and saw myself reflected in it. I looked really tired, and slightly green, or maybe it was the sword that was tinted green. This was all assuming my eyes weren’t just playing tricks on me. Everything had felt a little off since my Vision had been overloaded by the Queen, and I still didn’t fully trust my grasp on colors. The world around me looked just a little <em> too </em>desaturated.</p><p>“Come on,” I said to Luna, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the circle. We made a beeline for the basement door, which didn’t go unnoticed by the faerie who had just entered via the window. Luna slipped through the door as I opened it, and I followed, pulling it closed after me. There were several shouts, followed by bangs on the door, rattles of the doorknob, attempts to pull it open, but Luna and I put our collective weight into keeping it firmly shut.</p><p>“Deadbolt,” she said, pointing to the top of the door. I just managed to reach it, pushing it into position. It was a little bit <em> too </em>high, and I doubted it would hold very well, but… oh. I’d scanned the doorframe and spotted another deadbolt at the bottom. Weird, to place locks like that, at the top and the bottom. It was either an old convention I wasn’t familiar with, or it was related to the practice.</p><p>As I slid the lock into place, the pounding stopped, and we were plunged into total silence. Huh. No fight sounds. Nothing. I slid the lock back out a bit, and could hear the commotion on the other side begin again. Interesting. I locked it back into place.</p><p>“That’s pretty strange,” Luna said, frowning.</p><p>“Yeah,” I agreed, picking up my sword from where it was leaned against the railing. Together, we peered down into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Apparently there were three faeries down there, and they hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on.</p><p>“Do we turn on the lights, or… should we go after them in the dark?” Luna asked.</p><p>I tested the stairs, cautiously placing my foot on the top step. CREEAAK. I hadn’t even put my full weight on it.</p><p>“Lights,” I said. “They’ll know we’re coming either way.”</p><p>There were no sounds, no cries of alarm, no nothing, as the lights flickered on and illuminated the space. It was like the Legere basement, full of boxes and old junk, except larger and emptier, the size of a department store. As we descended into the area, I saw that the left half was filled with shelves covered in boxes and old knick knacks, like a cross between an archive and a Salvation Army. If this wasn’t a demesne, how come Alan wasn’t constantly sneaking in here and stealing shit? </p><p>“Are <em> we </em>going to be able to find the safe room?” Luna whispered.</p><p>“That’s not what we’re looking for,” I said.</p><p>“I don’t see any faeries down here, Jamie,” she said. “They probably found the room already.”</p><p>“No,” I said, refusing to believe it. “They’re probably walking along the outskirts of the room somewhere on the other side, since that’s the most obvious place to look.”</p><p>We crept around the staircase and between some shelves that turned into bookcases halfway down. The floor was made of concrete, unlike the wooden stairs, which I appreciated because it was much easier to sneak across. Luna stopped to inspect one of the bookshelves, and I let her, moving to the back wall, my sword held out in front of me. I looked to both sides and saw nothing.</p><p>“Where’d they go?” I muttered to myself, skirting the wall with my back pressed against the shelves, looking down each aisle as I passed. This entire side of the basement was full of bookshelves, all down the back wall and down each aisle a ways. Interesting books, most likely, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted.</p><p>I felt a strong tugging sensation in my gut again, and the basement was plunged into pitch black. My eyes involuntarily traveled up in the direction of the fighting, and I sighed. Great. Cathy must have jumped us to a timeline where we’d gone downstairs in the dark. Or something.</p><p>“Luna,” I hissed, storming over to the aisle I’d left her in. I let the sword drag behind me on the ground, where it scraped the concrete lightly.</p><p>There was no reply. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I was able to see that there was nobody here. Maybe this was the wrong aisle? I checked the next aisle over in either direction. Nothing.</p><p>“Luna,” I hissed again, a little bit louder. I didn’t move to search for her again, though. I was pretty sure I hadn’t picked the wrong aisle. The shapes of some of the books were familiar. I stood there, not daring to move, straining to listen for a response, or for anything indicating nearby life.</p><p>There was one sound I could hear, something I hadn’t been able to make out previously over the soft buzz of the fluorescence. It was a low, shallow breathing noise. Definitely one entity, and it was louder than a faerie, judging by how distant it sounded. As soon as I was able to identify the sound as breathing, I shuddered, my eyes welling up with tears. Fear? No. These were the tears that came with a sense of dramatic irony, with a terrifying realization. Of course this would be how I died. The breathing was coming from somewhere in the direction of the staircase.</p><p>Which wasn’t saying much, honestly. It could have been on the far side of the room. It could have been a weird trinket that made noise, some old magical artifact, maybe like a dragon egg or something. There was so much weird crap in here, it was almost impossible that all of it was utterly silent. I wasn’t reassured, though. The atmosphere of the silent, darkened basement was incredibly unsettling, and the more I thought about it the less comfortable I was.</p><p>Aunt Cathy had really screwed me over, here. Unintentionally, but still. I didn’t know where Luna was, and I couldn’t make out anything in the gloom. My best bet was to go back upstairs and try to get into the circle.</p><p>I took a step towards the staircase, and I heard a thud somewhere in the distance. I froze, wondering if it had been an echo from my sword or something. I lifted the sword from the ground and waited, my heart pounding. There it came again. A single soft thud, like someone whipping a heavy bag of flour against the ground. I tried to switch my Vision on, too scared to close my eyes. I felt a little bit of something tingling at the edges of my eyesight, the characteristic connections to other people coming into focus, though I couldn’t understand what they were connecting me to. <em> Like I have a concussion. </em>I really hoped my Vision would recover.</p><p>Another thud, and the breathing hitched. I held my own breath as it stopped, my thoughts interrupted. Whatever was out there among the shelves, it definitely wasn’t a faerie. I thought of how the Hound had climbed out of the basement when I’d arrived. <em> Why was the Hound down here? What the fuck else is down here? </em>Why did nobody seem to be in the habit of telling me these things, especially now that they all knew I was a goner? If I could just reach the staircase—</p><p>Whatever was down here with me made an unearthly snort, followed by another thud. Maybe I could distract it if I threw something across the room. Then I could make a break for it. I crept forward to the end of the aisle, lifting a single book from a nearby shelf with my left hand and holding the faerie sword aloft in my right.</p><p>Heart pounding, I reached the end of the shelves and squinted out into the darkness. The center of the space was full of large, miscellaneous items, like a tall wooden totem and an upright piano. It was hard to make them out now, but I’d taken note of a few of the bigger pieces on our way down. Unfortunately, it was difficult to actually see any of them beyond the vague shadows they cast against the darkness. Another thud confirmed the position of the entity, just past the staircase.</p><p>I brought my arm and wrist back, then took a deep breath and made a quick mental prayer to whatever god might be listening in, flinging the book as hard as I could towards the wall to my right. I could hear it hit something on a shelf, knocking it to the ground. The item shattered, and the intermittent thudding noise turned to footsteps as whatever it was headed over to investigate. As soon as I gauged that it was reasonably clear, I pounded the concrete hard with my feet, making each step more of a bound. I sprinted to the staircase, the faerie sword making the journey kind of awkward. The creature snorted in anger and came after me, but I was faster than it, and I took the stairs two at a time. I reached the door and slid one shaky hand up along the crack to the deadbolt. My fingers fumbled in the dark for a nerve-wracking couple of seconds, then I had it.</p><p>There was a loud creaking noise as the bottom stair protested against the weight of my pursuer. One hand on the doorknob, poised to pull, I flicked on the lights with my other hand.</p><p>The first thing I saw once my eyes readjusted to the light was Luna. She had been knocked out, her limbs splayed out across the thing’s chest such that her wrists and ankles were held in place with loops of fur. There was a small gash in her forehead where blood had coagulated, forming a nasty looking scab. The thing itself was furry and spherical, gray with a soft white belly. It had tiny arms like a  tyrannosaurus and slightly longer legs that ended in gargantuan anthropoid feet. Its head lay halfway between those of a wolf and a crocodile, with a protracted jaw and three teardrop-shaped nostrils perched at the end in a semicircular arc like flower petals. It wasn’t as viscerally disturbing as sight as the Hound, but it was still upsetting, especially when punctuated by the unconscious form of my friend strapped to its gut. At least, I hoped she was unconscious. I could only assume. I was fairly certain I’d seen an illustration of this guy or at least something like him in the book on magical creatures, but I couldn’t come up with a name or even a category to place it in. Scaly, dinosaur-like… was that atroxic, maybe? I really should have read some more of that book; it made sense to be aware of what I could find myself up against in the future.</p><p>What the fuck had happened in this timeline we’d been unceremoniously shunted into? How had it come to this? I pointed my sword at the thing, mind racing as I considered my options. I could open the door and call for help, risking faerie intervention, or I could try to kill it myself. I still couldn’t hear the fighting on the other side of the door, which reminded me that there was a second deadbolt at the bottom. Maybe it made more sense to keep the situation quarantined to the basement, where there were fewer confounding variables.</p><p>I stepped down towards the creature, bringing the point of my sword close to its head. It stepped backwards, turning away from me so that its scaly back was exposed. Something about the way the thing moved made me suspicious that its scales were invulnerable, at least against the blade I wielded. As I watched, cautiously stepping back into the basement, its head spun around a full 180 degrees and I finally understood its figure as that of an upright alligator with a huge furry hump on its back. It grunted, then collapsed forward and landed on all fours.</p><p>Ok. <em> Now </em> it was disturbing.</p><p>The creature began to scuttle towards me, Luna’s now-messy hair draped over the hump like a macabre curtain. I ran full tilt towards the furthest wall, which was back through the rows of shelves. Sword still clutched tightly in one hand, I used my other hand to knock things over along the way. One especially large cylindrical totem that looked like a gnome toppled at the slightest touch and rolled away to my left, crashing into a row of boxes.</p><p>I turned my head briefly to look at the reptilian and saw that it was gaining on me, in spite of the mess I was creating in my wake. Turning back, I saw that I was hurtling towards a piano. With only half a second to think, I flung the faerie sword as hard as I could towards the far wall, then braced myself against the frame of the instrument, trying to propel myself over the top. A monumentally stupid idea, when I could have just gone around. I only managed to get my feet onto the keyboard, and as I tried to clamber over the lid, the alligator creature barrelled into me, sharp scales slicing into my lower back. The force of the attack sent me to the floor in a pile of red-hot agony. By some crazy stroke of luck, the creature also tore into the wood of the piano and managed to get stuck, the entire apparatus rolling away from me and into the nearest shelf, which toppled.</p><p>As my mind tried to understand what was happening over the cacophony of things breaking, I tried to push myself up from where I was lying on my side and paid a steep price for my insolence. As I tried to keep the involuntary writhing that followed to a minimum, I realized that there was a veritable puddle of blood around me on the floor. Stupid, fragile humanity.</p><p>I <em> had </em> prepared for something like this. I’d learned an Aztec rune for healing as a precautionary measure, and I’d even figured that I could use the blood from a wound as an offering to power the process. But given the hurt I was experiencing and the pressure of the moment, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t just mix it up with a different rune. I was also lying on the wrong side; I would have to roll over in order to access the pocket with the pad and paper inside it. I tried to steady myself in spite of the unending waves of anguish that wracked my body and finally managed to hold myself in place just long enough for the pain to subside just a little. The animal instinct to thrash around when wounded was really dumb.</p><p>I could see the creature trying to escape from the upright, which was just about too heavy for it to lift. It clawed at the wood, rolling the massive instrument around in a circle and jostling Luna back and forth in the process. The lump on its back seemed to be a massive handicap, and I was pretty certain it was the thing’s weak spot, if I could manage somehow to get in a couple of clean sword swings. I knew the piano wouldn’t hold my would-be predator forever. My sight was going a little fuzzy around the edges, and I could only hope that wasn’t because I was losing blood too quickly. I had a dawning sense of horror that perhaps the creature had punctured one or more of my organs. Everything seemed to be working well enough to keep me alive, and there was nothing but blood coming out of the wound. Still, with that terrifying thought came a new sense of grim determination, and I braced myself mentally before rolling hard to my left.</p><p>I hadn’t braced myself hard <em> enough. </em>I tried to let the pain wash over me, but it hit me before I’d even made it to the other side, and I found myself flopping uselessly on the ground like a beached whale, chin pressed awkwardly against the concrete in a way that made the back of my neck hurt. I turned my head in the direction I wanted to face and grit my teeth. Somehow, I managed to push myself up and pull my knees in enough that I fell to the side in the direction I needed to go, staining the only remaining clean part of my dress shirt red. Damn, that was a lot of blood. The fuzziness at the periphery of my vision was definitely related to the blood loss. The creature was behind me now, which reset my steadily decreasing timer at a big fat question mark. I could still hear it fighting for its freedom, the sound of strings snapping discordantly and wood creaking to its limits. I could smell it too, faintly, a stench like rotten fish that was mostly covered up by the much stronger metallic scent at hand.</p><p>But now that I was facing the right way, I pulled out the pad of paper and gently placed the pen into my left hand. It took me three tries to draw the rune I was guessing was the correct one, because I had to move the paper more than the pen. It wasn’t very well drawn, but I had read that the act of drawing itself was mostly symbolic anyway. The rune was similar in style to the one I’d used to call upon the trickster god, with two waves crossed by a diagonal line. Since both deities were Aztec, I figured the similarity between the runes was a reasonable metric I could use to inform the guess I was making. Maybe I had some cred with Huehuecoyotl that I could cash in to other deities from the same pantheon. Speaking of the Aztecs, it registered then that I had basically become my own human sacrifice. I jammed the blood-drenched notepad and pen back into my pocket before making my plea.</p><p>“Patecatl,” I said, choking on the name. I switched over to a mental prayer. <em> Please. I don’t remember what I’m supposed to say here but I’m probably going to die if you don’t help me. I’ll be forever in your debt, or I’ll do whatever you specify. Just do something. Thanks. </em></p><p>I smeared the back of my hand on the rune, then dropped the page into the blood for good measure. At first, the rune began to glow a bright red, but it quickly turned yellow-orange and then a sickly green as the amount of blood absorbed increased. The blood visibly drained away into the paper, turning the entire sheet a deep crimson without making the paper any flimsier. I hadn’t read anything or been told anything about the effectiveness of runes increasing proportional to the power given, but it made sense and it wasn’t like the blood was going back into my body, so I smooshed the paper around in the rest of the puddle, sopping it all up until the rune was glowing a light blue, then a vibrant indigo.</p><p>The deed done, I let my arms collapse and I closed my eyes for just a second. Only a second, though, because falling asleep here might mean I wouldn’t wake up again. The unnerving noises of splintering wood behind me kept me alert.</p><p>I felt the pain in my back begin to ease, accompanied by a rush of relief. As I allowed my eyelids to flutter open again, my Vision came to life automatically, back to working order. No more darkness at the edges of my ordinary vision, only the comfortable glow of seeing things through the filter of magic. I reached behind me and felt my back where my shirt had been torn. Everything was still sticky with blood, but I felt my skin, unbroken, and I allowed myself a smile.</p><p>I pushed myself up and to my feet, then closed my third eye or however the Vision was supposed to work. I turned to face the beast which had just managed to break free. Actually, I was pretty sure it had broken out of the piano several long seconds ago, since I hadn’t heard any further struggle following the sound of splintering wood. But there wasn’t any mystery as to why I hadn’t been attacked yet—the answer was staring at me. Literally staring, unblinking, with two eyes done up in kohl set against a white bullet-shaped sheet. No arms, no other facial features, only two dark, hairy legs that propped the thing up at a human height. I recognized it from a drawing in the book of runes, but it wasn’t the Aztec god of healing.</p><p>The creature with Luna strapped to its back growled and snorted, looking angry but also pretty afraid.</p><p>I pointed at the new arrival, taking a moment to keep the adrenaline from making my voice all shaky. “You’re… sorry, what’s your name again?” It only stared at me. I watched as it idly kicked at a small splinter of piano, sending it sliding across the ground to my feet. Was that supposed to be some kind of message? Wood? Piano? What? “I don’t understand.”</p><p>The crocodile thing began to circle around it clockwise, edging its way towards me. In response, I did the same, walking around the god such that the monster was always on the other side. Its body rotated smoothly to face me, sheet billowing lightly, its feet following after. As I reached the ruins of the piano, the god sent another splinter of wood towards me. Past me this time. I followed its movement out of the corner of my eye and saw it stop in front of the faerie sword I’d flung at the wall.</p><p>“Can’t you just help me?” I asked it, wary of the creature that continued to circle. “I remember something about you being a ‘smiter.’”</p><p>Slowly, it raised its foot to point at me with its toes, then set it back down and… bowed to me? The sheet retained its form as the god dipped down and then back up. <em> Fuck me. </em> I hadn’t summoned another Aztec god, I’d summoned another <em> trickster </em> god.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 2.5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I dove for the sword, ignoring the furious growls and barks that followed, and looked back to see that the Egyptian deity was guarding the gap between the shelves. The creature chose a different aisle instead, scuttling down its length on four very human feet (what I’d perceived earlier to be its arms were actually just very strangely shaped horns). Any second now, it would appear at the other end of the aisle I was in, and I’d have to fight it somehow. It didn’t seem capable of speech or high level processing, but it was still a large animal and I wasn’t sure I wanted to kill it.</p><p>Again, it came back to the issue of time. I’d had no time to really learn anything valuable, and I certainly hadn’t had any time to consider the ethics of murder in this world. Self-defense was justifiable enough, but I had made the conscious decision to stay in the basement and to try and save my friend by any means necessary. Was that still self-defense? A crime of passion, maybe? It bothered me that I was thinking about this in legal terms, and it bothered me more that I was even thinking about this at all. I might have been okay physically, but my thoughts were scrambled, depersonalized. Plus, between Alister’s reading and my latest close shave, I had a strong sense that I was living on borrowed time. Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to have my imminent death foretold in front of the family who actively served to gain from my demise. A self-fulfilling prophecy, to be sure. If I did manage to survive this particular skirmish, I vowed to seriously consider Cathy’s proposal to undo my awakening.</p><p>Maybe there was another way out of this mess. I’d given a lot of blood to this god, and I was pretty sure that meant I had a lot of leverage. Had I done something wrong? Maybe they were just offended that I’d forgotten their name. I made another concerted mental effort to remember, but it was as if I were taking a difficult exam, struggling to regurgitate the disjointed facts I’d attempted to learn via some shitty mnemonic during the prior night’s cramming session. Had I really only studied those runes this morning? It felt like a distant memory.</p><p>I could see the creature rounding the corner, cautiously moving toward me. I stepped to one side to confirm with my periphery that the Egyptian god was still there, no doubt the only reason my scaly adversary wasn’t just bum-rushing me.</p><p>“Do something,” I hissed, looking back at them. “Help me like I helped you, or I’ll never call you again.” The god made no sign that they had understood me. They kicked out one hairy leg, looking distracted. I looked back to the creature, wary. It seemed just as wary. “You’re doing this on purpose. You want me to die here so you can… slurp up the rest of my power.”</p><p><em> You dare speak a lie in the presence of a god? </em> came a voice in my head, so sudden and startling that I collided with the nearest shelf. I heard something fall on the other side. It was ageless, genderless, empty of tone or inflection, not even really a voice so much as it was a thought beamed directly into my brain.</p><p>The reptilian snorted loudly and began to approach, crossing the threshold between books and items. I lifted the heaviest thing I could see on the shelf I’d bumped into, something that looked kind of like a snowglobe, and I lobbed it, hard. It burst on impact just under Luna’s head, coating her hair and part of the creature’s back in a viscous blue liquid. The creature backed up, letting out an eerie howl. I couldn’t tell if it was hurt or angry, but it was retreating and that had to count for something.</p><p>“Sorry,” I said to the god. “Lying doesn’t really count here.”</p><p><em> I see that, </em> they said. <em> No spirits. I am not angry. </em></p><p>“Well I’m glad that you’re talking to me,” I said, throwing a clay pomegranate and some kind of statuette at the creature. What even was this junk? None of it seemed to be magical. The thing growled weakly as the pomegranate hit its snout. “Will you give me your name now?”</p><p>
  <em> Medjed. </em>
</p><p>“Right,” I said, stepping forward and throwing more stuff at the monster. Not as intimidating as it had been at first, between its furry hump and current demure, frightened disposition. How had it even gotten down here? How the hell had it managed to…</p><p>Oh. I felt <em> incredibly </em> stupid as I came to the realization. Medjed wasn’t helping me because I didn’t need any help. I doubted that was even Luna on its back. What was the word Clark had used? Glamour?</p><p>I stared at the thing’s back, trying to picture what it looked like underneath, trying to pretend that my friend’s limp body wasn’t actually… no, I couldn’t psych myself out. That wasn’t her. If I could just believe it…</p><p>A slow-moving bolt of white-hot lightning arced its way across the room and struck the creature in the snout. It reared up onto its hind legs, head twisting back the other way, and twitched in place before collapsing back towards me. “Luna” flickered and disappeared as its body shuddered and then stopped moving. I turned back to look and saw that Medjed had vanished too, and in their place stood Father Juneau, giving me a cool, unbothered smile.</p><p>“You,” I breathed, my body tense.</p><p>“Me,” he said, inclining his head marginally. “Tell me, Jamie, would you harbor such an atrox in your own basement?”</p><p>“You killed it,” I said, clenching my fists. My nails dug into my flesh.</p><p>“<em>It </em> almost killed <em> you</em>.”</p><p>“Somehow I don't believe that you had my interests in mind. You knew that I was dying and you didn’t help me?”</p><p>“I admit," he said, spreading his hands wide, "that technically, yes, I have more important things to worry about than the life or death of a doomed Westbrook. One of my motives for helping you was that you were destroying my stores, and any more damage would have been… inconvenient. But I am not cruel, and I do value human life.”</p><p>“You didn’t help me,” I said through gritted teeth. “It took <em> minutes </em> for that thing to break out of the piano. It was weak and it was <em> scared </em> . You don’t have the right to kill something because its existence is <em> inconvenient </em> for you.” Feeling more than a little impulsive, I pushed on the nearest shelf and it fell over, items breaking and shattering. “Is that inconvenient for you? What about this?” I moved to cross the aisle and push over the other shelf, but Juneau stepped in front of me and held out a hand, stopping me in my tracks. I glared at him.</p><p>“Your immaturity disappoints me,” he said, looking stern. “If—”</p><p>There was a crash somewhere across the basement. We both turned at once to look, and saw someone disappear behind some boxes.</p><p>“Faeries,” Juneau said, with the same invective as a curse word. “They must have been concealed by the garja’s glamour.”</p><p>“Gar-ya? You mean the crocodile you just murdered?”</p><p>Juneau didn’t respond, instead gliding off in the direction of the faeries. Literal gliding. He moved faster than the length of his strides suggested he had any right to. Whatever. Whatever was going on over there, that was his problem to deal with.</p><p>I walked over to where the garja lay and knelt by its head. Its eyes stared out into nothing. Now that I was close to it, I was aware of how much the thing reeked. It wasn’t a particularly strong odor, but it was a nasty, fishy one, and it was only amplified by the smell of… ozone, if I had to guess. It could also have been the smell of electrocuted flesh. Very gently, cautiously, I ran my hand along the length of its snout, from the nostrils down to the space between its eyes, and I felt it shudder weakly in response. It was still alive?</p><p>I didn’t know how electricity worked, really. Physics had never been my wheelhouse, especially when it interacted with all the complexities of a living thing. And, I thought, even more especially when it interacted with <em>magic.</em> But I did know that electrical impulses could cause things like muscle contraction even after death. Nevertheless, if there was even the slightest chance that this thing was alive, it wouldn’t do to let it suffer.</p><p>Feeling lightheaded, I retrieved the sword and placed its tip against where I approximated its brain was. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.</p><p>A thought gave me pause. People who died here supposedly went to hell, whatever that entailed. Who said animals were any different? Then again, if I was right about gods, spirits were probably just psychic imprints on the world, and their absence did not bely some deeper cosmic order of life after death.</p><p>On the other hand, I had met Medjed. They had appeared before me, and they had spoken to me. There was no denying that. That didn’t really change the conditions of my hypothesis, especially because Juneau hadn’t seemed to notice them, but it was enough to give me pause. Was I confident enough in my naive non-magical metaphysics to risk sending this crocodile thing to hell? Would it suffer less here?</p><p>I heard shouts and the sounds of fighting from the other side of the basement and tuned it out, allocating all of my attention to the moral dilemma before me. I moved my sword aside and knelt down, placing my hand against the thing’s nostrils. An electrical shock jolted up my arm and through my body, making me jump back. Once I had gotten over the surprise of the event, I put my hand back down. This time, I completely covered all three of its nostrils at once, to see if I could detect any sign of respiration. Its nostrils were cold and wet, but I couldn’t feel any air passing through them. Did crocodiles breathe through their mouths?</p><p>The garja kind of jittered when I moved my hand up to the top of its head. Its eyes, which had been closed, opened a fraction before falling shut just as quickly. But it didn’t move again after that. I kneeled by its side for a minute, fighting hard to keep the tears in, until the sounds of combat had ceased, and I got to my feet to see what was happening.</p><p>Juneau had walked to the staircase. Before him, three fey bodies lay in a heap that was levitating a few feet above the ground. They looked dead.</p><p>“They’re alive,” he said, “just unconscious.”</p><p>“You left them alive,” I said, disbelievingly.</p><p>“Believe it or not,” he responded, “I am not a cruel man. See, faeries are people, like you or I. Garja are alligators. If you lived in the swamps of Northern Florida, and your charge was attacked by a feral reptile, you would…?”</p><p>“It didn’t die immediately,” I said, my voice hollow.</p><p>“Don’t you know how neurons work?” asked the priest, managing to sound like an impatient schoolteacher. “It was dead a few seconds after I struck it. Instant cardiac arrest.”</p><p>I had nothing to say to that. I understood what he was implying, that what I had seen were just aftereffects of the electricity. It made sense, but I wasn’t fully convinced until I remembered that practitioners couldn’t lie. And then I remembered that they could if they were in the exclusion zone, as long as they didn’t know it was a lie.</p><p>“Let’s go back upstairs,” said Juneau, and I could tell that he was trying to make his voice sound gentle. “I have a feeling the Queen got what she wanted out of this.”</p><p>“Wait,” I said, quickly. He stopped, his foot halfway to the first stair. “First of all, what the hell does that mean? And second of all, what about my parents? And all the rest?”</p><p>“Chaos and division,” the priest said. “Injury, too. We are all of us weaker now because of it. As for—”</p><p>“But nobody’s dead,” I pointed out. “Wasn’t that the point? To kill a Westbrook.”</p><p>Juneau gave me a thin smile. “Queen Jaswan is very old, and more patient than you think. Destiny is in her favor, it seems, and she is determined to wait it out.” He paused to see if I would respond again, then went on when I didn’t. “As for the innocents, they can come out once we’ve cleaned everything up and sorted out the mess. We don’t want them asking questions.”</p><p>“That’s fair,” I said. I realized that I was practically fishing for a reason to hate the man. I knew he and Luna didn’t like each other, but that wasn’t a reason to— “Oh god,” I said, the words falling out from my lips. “Luna.” I looked back at the corpse of the garja, then back at Juneau, whose expression was impassive.</p><p>“I believe you will find her in one of those aisles,” he said, pointing at the bookcases to my left.</p><p>Immediately, I started to jog along the outside of the aisles. I found her in the same aisle I’d last seen her in. She was in a heap on the ground.</p><p>“Luna!” I cried, running to her side. I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upright, so she was sitting with her back against the nearest shelf. “Luna,” I said. “Up. Get up.” I had to slap her face gently from side to side before she groaned in protest and pushed my hands away. I heaved a sigh of relief.</p><p>“We were…” she muttered, shaking her head in an attempt to wake herself up. “I didn’t see who hit me, but I think it was a faerie.”</p><p>“Probably. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”</p><p>“My head,” she said. “The back of my head, but I don’t…” she put a hand to the back of her head and then brought it before her eyes. “I’m not bleeding or anything. It’ll probably bruise.”</p><p>“Alright,” I said. “Good. Do you need help getting up?”</p><p>“Please,” she said, so I squatted down and offered her my shoulder to lean on. Once she was up, though, she seemed fine to stand on her own. I still lent her my arm for support. She seemed to be a bit dizzy. She took her first good look at me, and she blanched.</p><p>“Your shirt,” she said. “What the hell happened? You’re covered in blood!”</p><p>“Are you coming?” Father Juneau called. It was hard to tell from the distance, but he sounded exasperated. I decided that I felt lukewarm about him, for the time being. He was still a creep.</p><p>“Give us a minute,” I shouted back, then started shambling forwards, careful to keep Luna upright. Eventually, I let her go and moved forward on my own, and she managed to keep a reasonable pace.</p><p>“Dried blood,” I explained, as we walked. “One of the faeries’ pets. It gored me when I tried to climb over the piano.” Luna didn’t respond, but she had stopped moving. I looked at her, and she was staring at me with a disbelieving expression. “I’ll explain later.”</p><p>We had just exited the aisle, and reached the center of the room, when I felt a sharp pain in my back.</p><p>“Augh, fuck,” I said. “What was that?”</p><p>“What happened?” Luna asked.</p><p>“My back,” I said, as the pain continued. My hand felt wet, and I pulled it back in front of me to see that it was covered in blood.</p><p>The next surge of pain sent me to my knees, and before I knew it I was on the floor again, my thoughts a garbled mess. In that moment, I knew only pain.</p><p>I was vaguely aware of Luna, her hand on my wound. The pressure she was placing on it was making the pain worse, and it was sending me in and out of conscious thought. And then it subsided all at once, and I was left in a whole lot of pain, but not nearly as much as I had been in.</p><p>“There,” said Luna, whose voice was trembling. “That should hold until you can get looked at properly, by someone who knows what they’re doing.”</p><p>“Such is the consequence of calling upon the Gods,” came Juneau’s voice, from somewhere above me. “Tell me, if you can. Who did you summon?”</p><p>It took me a moment to comprehend that the question had been directed at me. I opened my mouth to respond and coughed instead, tasting copper.</p><p>And then I felt myself lifting up. At first, I thought someone was carrying me. Luna, maybe, or Luna and Juneau both, but then I noticed that I felt nothing underneath me. Nothing at all. I looked down and saw that I was floating in the air. I was too tired to do anything but accept it. As much as it terrified me to be completely unsupported like that, the pain and exhaustion took priority.</p><p>We went up the stairs, a curious procession to be sure. Faeries in front, followed by Juneau, me, and then Luna, taking up the rear. I tilted my head so I could look at her, and she gave me her best worried smile.</p><p>The sheer amount of noise that followed from our emergence into the funeral parlor hurt more than the hole in my back. The battle had continued while we had been downstairs; only, now the blows were verbal rather than physical.</p><p>“I have done my <em> best </em> to defend my country from the garbage that is going on here.” Thin, reedy, and not nearly as angry as the rest of the conversants? That would be Roxy. “I have risked my life, my job, and literally everything else, just to come down here and try to sort out this insane dumpster fire your family set. Arson! Political arson; that’s what this is.”</p><p>“And why is it so hard for you to take responsibility? To grasp that all of this is your fault, almost<em> exclusively </em> your fault? Your ignorance of global politics is no excuse for the <em> depths </em> of your incompetence.” Angrier, younger. Rose.</p><p>“And yet in spite of knowing all the shit you people would throw at us: the sanctions; the restrictions, the inability to <em> leave our home, </em> we <em> still </em> had the foresight to know we needed to cut off the Queen’s power before she became a nuclear threat.” Cathy.</p><p>“That was us, actually.” Sam. “Don’t take credit for things you’d never have the <em> balls </em> to do, you weaselly bitch.”</p><p>“You have no right to speak to her like that, boy,” growled the unmistakable voice of Roy. “And you don’t know what you’re talking about. Your childish escapades are totally irrelevant to this conversation.”</p><p>“Yeah, great <em> job, </em> Westbrooks. You managed to corrupt the fey. You made them desperate, and therefore even more dangerous than <em>winter</em> fey. Your ‘foresight’ gave rise to the most powerful monstrosity this side of the continent since the fucking Barber.” That would be Rose again.</p><p>“You don’t still blame…”</p><p>“<em>No. </em> Shut up, Alister.” A short pause. “And <em> you, </em> Legere. Your mommy is the <em> second </em> most powerful monstrosity since the Barber.” Another pause. “Your mother did this, <em> Cathy, </em> and your refusal to denounce her actions puts you on some really fucking thin moral ice. And on top of all that, what you did to Margot just now? And—look at this! Look who’s here! It’s your neph—niec—whatever. Perfectly good health, wouldn’t you say?” She had noticed us.</p><p>“Jesus, Jamie,” said Sam.</p><p>“Father Juneau. What happened?” Rose asked.</p><p>“Garja in the basement. Not sure how it slipped past the wards.”</p><p>“That’s concerning.” Roxy. “Maybe it was there before?”</p><p>“Impossible,” said Juneau. “We would have known.”</p><p>“Jaswan,” I croaked. “Probably Jaswan. Not a demesne, and she can teleport.”</p><p>“Somebody treat them already!” cried Luna.</p><p>That seemed to do the trick. I was laid down on a pew that was dragged out into the middle of the room, and everyone surrounded me. I knew Cathy and Roy were disappointed that I had survived the attack, but everyone else cared enough (or at least, pretended to care enough) to make sure that I was alright. I lay there in silence for a while, my eyes closed. Eventually, the people who I knew less personally split off to have whispered conversations. There was at least one argument, but I didn’t have the energy to pay attention.</p><p>“Okay,” Roxy said eventually. She had taken charge of healing me. “We’ll need to put you to sleep for a while, so anything you want to say…”</p><p>“Luna, Sam?”</p><p>“We’re here,” Luna said. “You can rest at home with us.”</p><p>“Thanks,” I said. Then, simply “Alister.” I didn’t open my eyes. There were footsteps.</p><p>“I’m here,” he responded, after a moment. He sounded grim. “You want another reading?”</p><p>“Please.” There was a long pause.</p><p>“Okay,” he said.</p><p>“Yes or no, will I die soon?”</p><p>“Death,” he responded. “So… probably.”</p><p>“But not as a result of my wounds?”</p><p>“Mmm… nope.”</p><p>“Fuck,” I said, without emphasis. “And my ultimate fate, has it changed at all?”</p><p>There was another long pause.</p><p>“Eight of swords. Um. I think that’s saying it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.”</p><p>“Of course it is,” I said. “Any way you can determine when it’ll happen?”</p><p>“Not really,” he confessed. “It’s kind of a short term probabilistic process.”</p><p>“Do you use the cards in battle? I didn’t see—”</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “Tends to be a last resort these days, now that I have access to better karma and more power, but yes. Like I said, short term probability. I can tell how an enemy will attack, because the probability space is super limited.”</p><p>“Jaswan’s next move?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Jamie. Too long term, and powerful individuals give inaccurate readings anyway.”</p><p>I put my head back against the pew and pondered my situation for a minute, still not opening my eyes.</p><p>I was too tired to think straight, and I seemed to be screwed on all frontiers regardless. There was no point in trying to fight it, at least not for the moment. I would figure this out after I was healed.</p><p>“Alright,” I said finally, opening my eyes and looking up at the concerned faces of Luna, Sam, Roxy, and Alister. “I’m fried, and I’m in a lot of pain, so… do what you have to do.”</p><p>Roxy offered me one last brief, sympathetic smile, then put her hand over my eyes, and I was out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. 2.6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I found myself gradually coming to from a dream where my parents were practitioners. Of course, as is often the case with dreams, they had started out as different people: Luna and Sam, and then they had gradually morphed into my parents, which I determined to be kind of weird and Freudian now that I was awake. There were people talking quietly in the next room over. With a start, I realized it was all four of them, my parents and the Legeres. There was the sound of plates clinking. What time was it?</p><p>“We really appreciate this,” my mom said. “I know we keep saying it, but it’s really good of you to give Jamie a place to stay and rest. I’m sorry things got cut short before you could attend the poetry reading; it was really very moving.”</p><p>“Really, it’s alright,” Sam said. “I’m happy to do it. And I’m not a huge fan of poetry.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” my dad said. “What do you do, then? For a living, I mean.”</p><p>“For a living?” Sam repeated, laughing. “Nothing, really. Property is cheap out here. I spend a lot of my time reading, and aiding the research of a professor at a local community college.”</p><p>“Oh!” said my dad. “A family of scholars, I see. What about your parents?”</p><p>“Estranged,” Sam said, after a pause. “Mostly, it’s just been me and Luna. There’s also Roxane, who’s lovely, but she lives on the other side of town, so we don’t get to see her much.”</p><p>I rolled onto my back and sat up.</p><p>“Oh! Jamie!” my dad said, and there was the sound of forks hitting plates as they abandoned their meals and came over to my side. “Are you feeling alright? We heard about the fight.”</p><p>For a moment I was stunned and terrified by what he’d said, and images of my dream flashed through my mind. I tried not to let it show on my face.</p><p>“It was pretty much everybody against Cathy,” Luna said, helpfully.</p><p>“Oh,” I said, relieved. “Yeah. I wasn’t there for most of it.”</p><p>“Do you remember who pushed you?” my dad asked. <em> Pushed? </em> Was that the cover story? I wasn’t wearing the blood-stained shirt anymore, only a plain tshirt, so I guessed that they must have somehow been led to believe I’d been concussed or something.</p><p>“No,” I said. “I remember that I got hurt near the piano, and I was out before any of you guys came back upstairs.” </p><p>“The piano?” my mom asked. “You mean the church organ?”</p><p>“Pretty sure it was an upright piano,” I said, playing it off with a smile. The half-truths came too easily.</p><p>“That’s good to hear,” my mom said, smiling back. “But you’re okay? No need for a hospital visit?”</p><p>“No need,” I said. Definitely an understatement. I’d likely get placed in a psych ward if I went to the hospital. “I just needed some rest. I wasn’t hurt too badly.” As soon as the words had left my mouth, I realized it was a lie. I had to trust that the rules of the exclusion zone were flexible enough that I hadn’t just lost my power. Neither Luna or Sam seemed too concerned (though Luna did react a little) so I trusted their judgement.</p><p>“Well,” my dad said. “That’s a relief. We’re planning on leaving in a few hours, but why don’t you join us at the table? You don’t have to eat if—”</p><p>“I’m <em> very </em> hungry,” I said. “Just give me a second to use the bathroom, and I’ll be right there.”</p><p>“You better hope the food’s not all gone by the time you get back,” Sam said in a joking tone, as I got myself out of bed and walked to the bedroom. “Be quick.”</p><p>I looked back at him and he shot me a meaningful look.</p><p>“Gotcha,” I said.</p><p>Once I was in the bathroom, I pulled off my shirt and faced away from the mirror, twisting my head so I could see my back. There was a small circular scar where the wound had been. The burns hadn’t left any marks, and unlike the gash I’d made in my hand, which had healed pretty much right away without any trace of a scar, this wound was… what, deeper? Older?</p><p>It was obvious in retrospect that I had never been healed to begin with. Medjed was not the god I’d expected to show up, and more than that, they were not any god of healing. They had not actually done very much for me in the long run, but they had granted me an audience, which was pretty cool. There were alternative hypotheses now about the nature of gods. Maybe it wasn’t humans who invented the gods, but the gods who influenced humans into adopting them as a part of their religions. And maybe gods were some form of ascended spirit. If wraiths were angrier ghosts, who said that gods weren’t just the next step up?</p><p>It would be interesting, then, to see if cult gods were real. Like how Scientology had Xenu, for instance. Not a god in the strict sense, but still a figure of worship. Or even all the ones that were supposed to exist. There was just no way that humans hadn’t made some of them up. Again, the Abrahamic God came to mind. More than half of the world believed in and prayed to Him, so He should be exponentially more powerful than all the rest. All the gods I knew about were pagan, which made sense because they were minor and therefore relatively safe to call upon. What I really needed was a book about gods, and I decided not to think about the nature of God any more until I had more information, in case He did exist and could read minds.</p><p>I used the bathroom and washed up as quickly as I could. I looked a little bit paler than usual, but I seemed to be fine otherwise. I put my shirt back on, wishing I’d brought a bra or a binder in with me, then headed out and took a seat at the table next to Luna.</p><p>They’d already finished eating, and they seemed to have run out of things to talk about, because they were discussing the weather. I mostly stayed silent as the conversation went on, and helped myself to a couple of sandwiches that had gone uneaten at the funeral. They’d gone a little bad, but were mostly okay.</p><p>I learned that the funeral hadn’t lasted long after I’d fallen unconscious. Once the pews had been put back in place, Brother Eben had come in from the back and retrieved the innocents (and Patrick) from the basement, and the ceremony had disbanded after that. Patrick and Mitch had argued that they should reschedule, but nobody else seemed to want that, not even Cathy or Roy. Funerals were formalities. All the respects that mattered had already been paid to the dead.</p><p>I didn’t understand why Cathy and Roy weren’t interested in a reschedule. The death of a family member they barely knew was the best thing that could happen to them. But my Aunt Matilda and her husband, who were, reasonably enough, sick of the bullshit, were the ones most strongly opposed to the idea.</p><p>“When should we expect you back home?” my mom asked. “Will you stop by before you go to the apartment? And… will Luna be coming too?”</p><p>I looked at Luna.</p><p>“I don’t know,” I said, truthfully. “I’m going to stay here for a bit, and I’ll let you know when I’m coming back. Dad, I hope that’s not—”</p><p>“Not a problem,” he said. “You mean the rental? I got it, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Okay,” I said.</p><p>“We’ll figure it out,” Luna said, giving them a smile. “It was very lovely to meet you properly.”</p><p>“You too,” said my dad. “Sorry about the family. We don’t claim them, haha.” I looked at my mom, but she didn’t react. Evidently, she also had had quite enough of her aunt.</p><p>We stood from the table and headed for the door, seeing my parents outside.</p><p>“See you soon,” I said, giving them tight, long hugs, in case I didn't get to keep the promise. “Love you guys.”</p><p>“Keep the sandwiches,” my dad yelled out the window, as they drove up the driveway. We waved, and they honked in response.</p><p>“You have a ton of missed calls,” Sam said, once they were out of sight. “Your friend Dylan?”</p><p>I didn’t respond, instead walking back in through the door and collapsing backwards onto the air mattress. I rubbed my eyes before letting my hands collapse to my sides.</p><p>“Not important, then?” Sam asked.</p><p>“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I told them. “I don’t know where I’m going to go when I leave. Or if I’ll even survive long enough for that to matter?” Sam gave me a serious, sympathetic look.</p><p>“You still up for troll hunting tonight?” Luna asked.</p><p>“Wait,” I said. “Was I seriously out for a whole day?”</p><p>“Pretty nasty wound,” Sam said. “It was infected.”</p><p>“And my dress shirt?” I asked.</p><p>“We tossed it,” Sam said. “We’ll buy you a new one.”</p><p>I considered this, and sat up.</p><p>“How is that legal?”</p><p>“What? Conjuring our own money?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I said. “How does the magical government allow for that?”</p><p>Sam and Luna looked at each other.</p><p>“They don’t,” Sam said, walking into the kitchen to put the sandwiches into the fridge. “It isn’t exactly legal. But there are statutes of privacy for demesnes, and we live in an exclusion zone so it’s not like they’re going to send people to investigate us.”</p><p>“Which is why Alan’s here,” I realized. “The pixie guy. He’s a criminal, so he’s holed himself up here to avoid government scrutiny.”</p><p>“Pretty much,” Luna said. “There are a couple of other small time criminals around here, but nobody cares because none of them are threats. Plus, the government is too scared to go anywhere near the Queen.” Sam came back and sat on the edge of the bed.</p><p>“Is there a president?” I asked. “No, wait. That doesn’t matter right now. There’s something else I need to talk to you guys about.”</p><p>“There is a president,” said Luna, “and what’s up?”</p><p>“I know what kind of magic I want to specialize in.”</p><p>“Already?” said Sam, one eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Healing,” I said. “Whatever discipline is closest to healing, that’s where I want to put my focus. I want a stethoscope for an implement, and a hospital for a demesne. And I want one of those double-ended atroxic snake creatures for a familiar so I can wrap it around a stick. I’m sick of almost dying, and I’m sick of hearing that I’m going to die anyway. I don’t care if it’s self-fulfilling, or whatever. I need to be able to heal myself and others.”</p><p>Sam and Luna were grinning, and Sam chuckled at the bit about the caduceus.</p><p>“Vivomancy,” he said, when I was done. “It’s rare, but it’s not unheard of. You sure you aren’t jumping the gun, though? A few bad experiences shouldn’t determine the entire rest of your life. It’s usually recommended that you wait a while and gain power before you make any large decisions like that.”</p><p>“I’m sure,” I said. “It feels right, somehow. And from what I've been told, taking on an implement or a demesne or whatever… it’s like marriage, right? Difficult to undo, but not impossible.”</p><p>“Yes, but the divorce proceedings are dangerous,” Sam warned. “They can leave you permanently powerless or they can kill you outright if you aren’t careful. Most practitioners don’t make decisions like that until years into their career.”</p><p>“Fair,” I said, “but I don’t seem to have a lot of time. Like Alister said, the cards work on short time scales. Death was pulled twice for me, and the self-fulfillment bit means that whether or not I make this decision, I die. I’d rather have the option to heal myself than not. Seems to give me a marginally better chance of beating the odds.”</p><p>“The odds?”</p><p>“The cards don’t work in certainties. They just tell you whatever’s most probable. I guess I haven't really had time to give this the amount of thought I really should, but now that I’m thinking through it I’m slightly more hopeful that I can avoid the outcome.</p><p>“I see,” Luna said. “I think we should visit the professor tomorrow to talk this over with him, but for now let’s focus on hunting the troll.”</p><p>“By ourselves?” Sam asked her. “We should probably get some other people involved for that. Like Roxy, before she leaves. Maybe Alister and Rose, before they leave too.”</p><p>“They haven’t left yet?” I asked.</p><p>“Margot’s leg,” Sam said, his voice hard. “I was trying to fight a few of the faeries outside, but I heard a scream from inside and went back in.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said. “What happened?”</p><p>“One of the faeries heated up a sword outside and brought it in. It cauterized the wound immediately, and Cathy wasn’t able to find a timeline where it hadn’t happened. Or so she said. Then Rose threatened to summon something, and all the faeries got scared and fucked off.”</p><p>“Summon…” I said, letting it hang as a question.</p><p>“A demon,” Luna said. “She said its name three times. Four more times and it would have been summoned.”</p><p>“Creepy,” I said. “What happened to the Hound?”</p><p>“Roy recaptured it,” Sam said. “Apparently it’s very obedient, happy to be a servant as long as it’s allowed to wreak destruction every once in a while. It ate some of the corpses, too, which was... helpful.”</p><p>“Ah,” I said, then fell silent.</p><p>“It’s almost 1 in the afternoon now,” Luna said. “The troll should come back tonight. We’ll have plenty of time to strategize if we get everyone else on board in the next couple of hours.”</p><p>“Your car,” I said. “You drove it back yesterday?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam said. “Ezrul checked it out. No traps or anything. And the hotel seemed fine by the way, in case you were worried you'd burnt it down.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it," I said. "Why don't you two head out, then? I think I want to stay behind and read.”</p><p>“You sure?” Luna asked.</p><p>“There’s a lot of stuff I need to know,” I said. “And I’ll be safe in the demesne. Leave Ezrul with me if you’re worried.”</p><p>“Okay,” Luna said. “He’s out back. If you call for him, he’ll probably come.”</p><p>“And,” interjected Sam, pulling out a chair from the far side of the dinner table and unplugging a cell phone that had been sitting on it, “your phone. Call if anything happens.”</p><p>I stood and took it from him as he worked his way back around the table. Six missed calls: five from Dylan and one from his roommate, our mutual friend Katie. The latest from Dylan was from two hours ago, some time before I’d woken up.</p><p>“I’ll see you soon, then,” I said.</p><p>“Yeah,” said Luna, giving me a smile. “In a bit.”</p><p>As soon as they were out of sight of the window, I threw open the basement door and flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time. My destination was the library, but the boxes that filled the basement gave me pause. These were the Queen Faerie’s. They were the cargo that my hosts had captured, intercepted. The threat they had neutralized. A major reason the Queen had wanted to speak to me. There was no way I wouldn’t take this opportunity to see what was inside of them.</p><p>I reached for my knife, and found it wasn’t in my pocket. I was wearing Luna’s jeans.</p><p>“Dammit,” I said, cursing my lack of forethought. I was debating heading back upstairs to look for it, then remembered that there was a small workshop around the corner. A screwdriver would do it.</p><p>I turned the corner and looked over the tools that were scattered across the surface of the table saw. A small box cutter caught my eye.</p><p>I retrieved the knife and made sure I could extend the blade, then headed over to the nearest stack of boxes. I pulled the topmost one down from the stack, surprised by how little it weighed for its size, and set it on the ground, where I knelt down and held the corner of the knife to the edge of the tape.</p><p>“And what do you think you’re doing?” asked Ezrul, startling me so much that I dropped the knife. It clattered to the ground next to the box. I stood and spun on him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not a snitch. I’m just curious.”</p><p>“Well, I—” I began, and then his words registered. “Oh. Well, in that case, Jaswan asked me for access to the demesne, so that she could…”</p><p>Ezrul began to laugh, a deep haughty chuckle that mingled with a high-pitched growling noise produced by his feline throat.</p><p>“What is it?” I asked.</p><p>“The Queen,” he said. “A single shipment, intercepted by a pair of children, and she has gone years without figuring out how to retrieve her precious boxes.”</p><p>“Is… is there another way she could do that?” I asked, more than a little perplexed.</p><p>“Yes, but it has never occurred to her because of her pride. She is very predictable in her age.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Think,” Ezrul said. “What is a way that somebody could enter a demesne uninvited?”</p><p>“Well, Alan did,” I said, slowly. “But only because a troll knocked a hole in the wall.”</p><p>“Powerful magical creatures can damage wards and enter demesnes if they so choose. Fey are the only exception to this.”</p><p>“So you’re saying…”</p><p>“The Queen will not consider collaborating with Alan.”</p><p>“I see,” I said. “What about the part where he actually has the power to enter a demesne?”</p><p>“Alan is more pixie than human at this point, rendering him a powerful magical creature, and though he does not know it, he has the power to enter this demesne whenever he wants.”</p><p>“Ah,” I said. “So the Queen could inform him of that, and then simply get Alan to steal back her stuff. But she’s too proud to do it, and maybe also scared? Alan could ask for a lot in return.”</p><p>“Yes,” said Ezrul. “Yes, she is scared of Alan. She is scared of anything that is not within her control, which is why the creation of the exclusion zone has caused her to grow desperate and resort to using non-fey, like that garja that attacked you. Corruption is the most common term for this. Corrupted fey do terrible things. Her desperation has also led her to… well, why don’t you see for yourself?” He pointed his paw towards the box on the ground.</p><p>“You want me to open it?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said.</p><p>I picked up the box cutter again and knelt by the box. This time, Ezrul padded over and sat next to me. Carefully, slowly, I put the knife to the tape, then hesitated.</p><p>“Is this safe?” I asked.</p><p>“Very,” he replied.</p><p>I cut the tape and pried the flaps open, folding back the sides so that the interior was visible.</p><p>Bubble wrap. Lots and lots of bubble wrap. I reached for the nearest parcel of it, and cut the tape holding it together so that it unfurled. Inside was a small, 2 by 2.5 inch circuit board covered in tiny chips and other electrical components.</p><p>“Jaswan… wants to build a computer?” I asked, after staring at it for a good few minutes in total confusion.</p><p>“Technomancy,” Ezrul elucidated. “Illegal everywhere, and rightfully so, because it is never safe.”</p><p>“I remember talking to Luna about this,” I said, opening another bubble wrapped package and finding a similar circuit board, though this one was smaller yet somehow more complex. “She said that Alan is a technomancer.”</p><p>“Ha!” said the cat. “Alan is a technomancer in the same way that I am a cat. It is technically true, but not a very good descriptor.”</p><p>“He’s a… collector, right? He sells people pixie slaves but also items?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said. He looked curious. “I wonder… is that what you’re after?”</p><p>“Not…” I started, then caught myself. “Yes. I was going to research vivomancy, find out about implements, and then go steal from Alan. But now that I’ve talked to you, I’m realizing that’s kind of a stupid plan.”</p><p>Ezrul put his paw to his chin in a thoughtful gesture.</p><p>“It sounds interesting,” he said. “I’m willing to help.”</p><p>“Wow,” I said, stunned. “Um, are you being serious?”</p><p>“Of course,” he said. “Am I able to lie?”</p><p>“I don’t think Luna and Sam will be happy with us,” I said, overwhelmed by trepidation at the thought of the task. “I just… I want to take steps to avoid the apparent inevitability of my own death. I guess I’m willing to piss some people off if I can make myself safer.”</p><p>“A lighter,” said Ezrul. “No, doesn’t fit. Something to do with ambrosia, nectar. Utensils aren’t powerful. A dish maybe? A teacup? Oh, a chalice. That would work.”</p><p>“Chalice,” I repeated, thinking. “You’re talking about implements for a vivomancer.”</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “It’s notoriously difficult to pick one which is spatially convenient.”</p><p>“Library,” I said, leading the cat into the small circular room. I went over to the nearest shelf and started scanning the contents.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shamanism, A Rich Tradition </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shamanism and You: What Does it Mean? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Runes and Regulations </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Calling All Gods: Experiencing the Divine</em>
</p><p> </p><p>I stopped there. The book about summoning gods was something I could read later, maybe, to make sense of my audience with Medjed, but I was clearly looking at the wrong shelf.</p><p>“Over here,” said Ezrul. He was by one of the shorter shelves in the middle of the room with a stack of books on top of it. “Middle shelf.”</p><p>I walked over and crouched down, looking at the titles of the books on the shelf he’d indicated.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Demesne Rituals </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Familiar Rituals </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Implement Rituals </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Three volumes of the same book, judging from the condition they were in and from the matching spines. I took out the one on implements for later, and then kept looking.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> An Introduction to Ritual Magick </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bits and Bobs: A Guide to Minor Objeckts and Implements </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Choosing an Implement: Fundamentals </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The last one. Perfect. It was a hefty tome, too. I lifted it from the shelf and flipped it open to the table of contents, placing it gently on the ground so that Ezrul could read it too.</p><p>It was the kind of book that listed every single topic in every single subsection in the table of contents, so that it dragged on for multiple pages. On Ezrul’s suggestion, we skipped past the chapter on types of implements to the chapter on types of magic. There, under life magic, was the subsection on vivomancy. Page 345.</p><p>We flipped to page 345, about a quarter of the way through the book, to find a two page subsection on the types of implements suitable for use by a vivomancer.</p><p>“Chalices and goblets,” I read aloud, condensing the flowery language into the most important points. “Symbolic of opulence, and of wellbeing. Best for wounds and missing appendages. Could I fix Margot’s leg?”</p><p>“Probably not,” Ezrul said. “Faerie swords are tempered to cause metaphysical damage.”</p><p>“Okay,” I said, unsure of what exactly he meant but understanding the idea. I’d held a faerie sword, and seen the green glint of the metal.</p><p>“Books,” I read. “Symbolic of wisdom and empathy. Best for emotional and psychological—wait, hang on. You can alter people’s emotions? That’s… so bad, on a number of levels. Negative emotions exist for a reason. It’s important to work through them. Erasing someone’s grief with a flick of a magic wand is just… that’s fucked up, honestly. I don’t know what else to say about it. And the mental torture you could inflict, conversely…”</p><p>“Unfortunate,” Ezrul said. “I’m guessing you aren’t going with that one.” He made it a statement.</p><p>“Right,” I said. “Gotta move quickly. Uhhhh, plates. Small things like saucers and butter dishes. Symbolic of structure and abundance. Best for general healing. That sounds like what I want. Are plates powerful as implements?”</p><p>“It depends,” Ezrul said. “It depends on the kind, and on what it’s made of. We actually happen to have a—” He stopped, frozen. When he spoke again, he spoke slowly and deliberately. “We <em> had </em> a very powerful one.”</p><p>It clicked.</p><p>“Oh! The vessel, you mean. The thing Alan stole. That’s perfect! It even sounds like a medical thing, like blood vessels.”</p><p>“Huh,” said Ezrul, sounding amused, though his expression betrayed no such emotion. “That actually sounds like it could work. I never considered that the vessel might have use as a vivomancer’s implement, but it seems to fit perfectly.”</p><p>“Are we in agreement, then?”</p><p>“I think that this is a plan we can move forward on, yes.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Interlude 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jacob’s Bell rhymes with hell. Jacob’s Bell rhymes with hell.” A schoolyard chant invented by one of the Duchamp kids. It was clever, she thought, and it made for a good rhythm to walk home to besides. She began to skip down the sidewalk, holding her backpack straps tightly in her hands, speaking the same line to the syncopated rhythm of her footfalls. “Jacob’s Bell rhymes with hell. Jacob’s Bell rhymes with hell. Jacob’s Bell rhymes with hell.” There was her house, visible around the corner. She picked up the pace, rounding the outside of the block at a galloping clip. “Jacob’s Bell rhymes with hell. Jacob’s Bell rhymes with—”</p><p>The screen door opened, and out came her mother, cutting a shadowy figure under the porch rafters in the afternoon light.</p><p>“—hell...o, mother,” she finished.</p><p>“Margot!” barked her mother sternly. “Have you been cursing?”</p><p>“No,” she replied, fidgeting with the right hand strap of her backpack.</p><p>“That’s <em> no, ma’am, </em> to you,” her mother replied from the porch, unmoving. Neither of them were moving. Margot stood on the sidewalk, feeling very guilty indeed. “I know that isn’t true. You know what happens to practitioners who lie, don’t you?”</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “But it isn’t a curse word if you’re talking about the place.”</p><p>“Backtalk!” exclaimed the woman. “Very naughty. You are fortunate that I am in good spirits today, and so you will not be punished.”</p><p>“Thank you, mother. I’m sorry,” she said, running past her mother and into the house. She climbed the staircase slowly and carefully, wary of her mother’s watchful eye, then dashed into her room and closed the door.</p><p>Margot tossed her bag to the floor and leapt onto her bed, which creaked and moaned in wordless objection.</p><p>“Yes. That’s how I feel too,” she told her bed. “Three pages of math homework, and all due on Friday at that!”</p><p>As a member of the Behaim Circle, Margot couldn’t help but view her schoolwork as something beneath her. Last year, her older cousin Laird had shown her how to divine the answers to arithmetic problems with a deck of playing cards, and ever since then, she had used it on every one of her homework assignments and, once she had convinced her teachers it was just a way for her to calm her nerves, on every one of her math tests as well.</p><p>This unit, however, consisted entirely of solving word problems, and that meant she had to actually put in some effort to translate them into arithmetic. It was very annoying, and though Margot knew that her teacher was oblivious to her cheating, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being taught a lesson. And frankly, she thought, she already had quite enough of those at home.</p><p>Her other subjects were very easy, but not because she cheated. Having grown up around an inordinate number of thick, old books written in both English and French, she was miles ahead of her classmates in her languages. History was something which made more sense knowing the magical history underlying it, and geography was just a matter of memorizing a few maps. For science, all she had to do was switch on her Second Sight, and it would all make sense to her. The only students in her grade who could hope to keep pace with her were the Duchamp twins, and they did not know math divination.</p><p>The sudden sound of the front door banging open interrupted her indignation at the three pages of math homework she’d been given and her subsequent contemplation of future ennui. There was only really one person it could have been.</p><p>Margot opened her bedroom door and peered out as her teenage sister climbed the stairs with none of the care or decorum that she had shown. She looked angry, ignoring Margot as she stormed her way to the end of the hallway and into her bedroom. The door slammed shut.</p><p>“Emilie!” her mother called up the stairs from the foyer. “Downstairs, young lady. Now, or I <em> will </em> ground you.”</p><p>There was a frustrated growl from Emilie’s bedroom, then her sister came storming back down the hallway.</p><p>“What are you looking at?” she muttered without glancing left as she passed Margot’s open door. “Mother,” she said in an exasperated tone as she descended the staircase, “I’m not angry with <em> you.” </em></p><p>“I understand that,” said her mother, then dropped her volume to keep the conversation between them. Margot closed the door and moved to the corner of her room closest to the bottom of the staircase.</p><p>“…in the entire… isn’t an absolute <em> moron,” </em>Emilie was saying. It was difficult to make out. Margot switched on her Sight and listened intently.</p><p>“...witch hunter,” her mother said. “He is a <em> witch hunter</em>. The armistice will not protect you if… hang on. Margot, you will have to try harder to eavesdrop. I can tell when you’re using your Sight.” Then, silence.</p><p>Margot sighed and moved to her desk, scooting the chair so she could lean out and retrieve the folders from her bag. She eyed the blue math folder with some disdain, then shoved it into her bottom drawer. Instead, she turned to the book she had taken out from the school library, the second novel in the <em> Cool Froot </em> series, which was intended for a secondary school audience. The bright colors and whimsical title had attracted her, and she had enjoyed the first book, though she wasn’t sure she liked the direction the second book was heading in so far. Nevertheless, she spent the next several hours engrossed in its world, putting it down only when it was time to eat.</p><p>Emilie was not present at the dinner table.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Margot remembered seeing her father cry only twice before.</p><p>When she had been 4 years old, her grandfather had passed. Her father had held her tightly in his arms as he wet the back of head with his tears. Her uncle Aimon hadn’t cried, but Margot learned later that this was because he had felt a strong sense of duty in comforting his siblings by immediately assuming his new role as the impassive family patriarch, and that he had actually felt the same way her father had.</p><p>Her grandfather had not been a kind or sentimental man, but he had been powerful and respected, a pseudo-deific figure who had single-handedly built up much of the good karma the Behaims enjoyed today.</p><p>Margot had cried too, not because she was sad about her grandfather's death (she barely understood what that meant), but because she was sad to see her father cry. He was stoic, a model of strength, and his tears had felt like the end of the world.</p><p>The second time she’d seen her father cry had been when she was only 6. It had been his friend and mentor that time, an Ottawan warlock who’d worked closely with the very first President of the Practice in the 40s and 50s to quash the emerging movement of fascist technomancy. He had been closer to a paternal figure to her father than his actual father had ever been.</p><p>He had sobbed until the tears refused to come, and remained despondent for several days after. This time around, Margot understood what he felt and she did her best to comfort him. She made him a messy, slightly burnt grilled cheese sandwich, and she was extremely relieved when he exploded into laughter at the sight of it. She had grown closer to her father over the course of that week, and she had learned some valuable lessons. Chiefly that he was human in the same way that she was. That he was susceptible to the same sorts of emotions.</p><p>Both of the previous times her father had cried had come at the news of a death. It was not any different the third time.</p><p>Margot’s sister Emilie had always been much older than her. They had never had the closest relationship. Emilie was distant and moody, unpleasant in her tweens and even worse as she grew older.</p><p>But when she had counted in her head the members of her family, the number had always come to four. When she had counted the people at the dinner table, <em> always </em> the number had always come to four. Four was comfortable. The difference between three and four was a vast chasm, incomprehensible.</p><p>Three was claustrophobia, tight as a vice. Not enough things to feel like a group, but also one too many to form a clean pair. To be a member of a group of three people was a synonym for unease. It was always two others, and then her. Invariably she was the odd one out; it never felt correct.</p><p>So while Emilie’s death was certainly sad, it was more notable to her in how it produced a sick, twisting sensation deep in her gut. There was no lesson to be learned here, only a prevailing sense that something was horribly, cosmically wrong.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Parent-teacher conferences. The day she had been dreading for a month now. Too long to have kept up a facade to her parents. Too long for Emilie’s death to still be an excuse. Conferences were usually ten to fifteen minutes long for each student. Margot’s conference was scheduled for half an hour.</p><p>It had been a mistake for her mother to bring her along to school that night. She could listen in, and her mother would be unable to react as long as she was speaking with the teacher. The punishment could not be worse than what was surely to come anyway.</p><p>“I think you are already aware, Gloria,” said Ms. Steinbacher, “that I hold your daughter in the highest of regards. She is an excellent student. Very intelligent, very enthusiastic. She is a joy to have in the classroom.”</p><p>“Yes,” said her mother. “But we aren’t here to talk about that.”</p><p>“No,” her teacher admitted. “We aren’t. My condolences again for your loss.”</p><p>“Thank you,” said her mother. “That means more than you know.”</p><p>“Let me begin with the good news. Margot is a very good test-taker. While she’s at school, she’s bright, vivacious… like I said, having her as a student is really quite a joy.”</p><p>“I’m proud to hear it.”</p><p>“She excels at all her subjects, especially language. She’s lightyears ahead of everyone else in my class, and it’s hard for me to come up with book recommendations for her. She’s read a few of my favorites, and they’re all very adult books. Madame Verville dit que son Français est trés bon.”</p><p>“All very good things to hear,” said her mother.</p><p>“However,” said Ms. Steinbacher, “and I am as sad to report this as you are to hear it: Margot has not been doing her homework.”</p><p>“That is… unfortunate.” The disappointment dripped from her mother’s voice. “How long has this been going on?”</p><p>“A bit longer than a month. Ever since the accident. She does her work fine when she’s at school, but nothing I do seems to convince her to do her work at home.”</p><p>“I would hate to think that the home environment we provide for her is somehow insufficient.”</p><p>“I certainly don’t see it that way. Give it a few months, and I’m sure things will go back to normal. She’s very studious otherwise.”</p><p>“Please excuse me for a moment,” said her mother, and Margot sensed her approach. She contemplated hiding in the bathroom, but she knew it would be futile. Her mother could sense their connection.</p><p>She expected her mother to be angry. Instead, the woman only looked sad.</p><p>“This conversation is private, Margot,” she said. “I will be warding off the rest of it. Know that I am disappointed, but that I understand.”</p><p>Margot sat outside the room in silence for the rest of the meeting.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“It’s been decided,” said her mother, three days later. “You will be moving to New York to attend a preparatory school near where your Uncle Norman lives.”</p><p>“We’re sorry,” said her father. “Education is very important.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Fall 2012. President Barack Obama is up for re-election. His challenger is Mitt Romney.</p><p>Margot lay exhausted on the hospital bed, the thought of her newborn Artemis and the steady intravenous drip of pethidine the only things keeping her sane.</p><p>She’d decided on the name before she’d known she was having a boy. It meant safety and purity, a reference to the Greek goddess. Two things she had never really had, spending most of her childhood at a preparatory school near where her Uncle Norman lived.</p><p>She had considered inviting her parents. She’d ultimately decided against it. They hadn’t been there for her. Why should they be there for their grandchild? She wasn’t bitter, exactly. She understood why they’d done it, and she’d had decades to come to terms with it. But she had never reconnected with them, and she wasn’t about to make the attempt now.</p><p>Which left her alone in the room until the nurse brought the baby in every once in a while, or the doctor came to check on her. She had television to keep her company, and she was (like almost everybody else in the country) heavily invested in the outcome of the 2012 election. She had the news on most of the time. Mitt Romney was okay, she supposed, but Obama was better.</p><p>Margot had returned to Jacob’s Bell on two separate occasions. The first was for her Uncle Aimon’s funeral back in the 90s, when she’d been 26. She’d stayed with her cousin Laird, the bereaved son, who was already married and trying for children. She’d seen Gloria and Ben Behaim then, and had talked to them briefly, but she hadn’t been ready to reconnect.</p><p>The second was more recent—back in 2008—and was for her Great-Aunt Sheila’s funeral. She had lived to the age of 95, and Margot respected that immensely, even if she hadn’t known the woman that well. Knowing the Behaims, she’d likely extended her lifetime artificially, but still. She’d spoken to her father one on one, at that funeral, and they had shared a quiet moment. He told her he’d had years to come to regret the decision to send her away, and that they’d only done it because they were hurting. She told him she appreciated it, and that she loved him. They had chatted once or twice over the phone after that, but they hadn’t been able to mend the divide, and eventually they fell out of contact again.</p><p>She often thought about the significance of funerals in her life. They were times of raw emotion, moments of profound connection between individuals. But funerals were fleeting, and emotions changed and went away. Estrangement was estrangement.</p><p>The occasional background noise of crying children that filled the maternity ward increased in dynamic as the door to her room opened and in came the nurse, holding her baby. She smiled and took him in her arms, holding him against her aching chest as he had his meal. <em> At least I have you, </em> she thought.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Fall 2016. It is looking increasingly likely that Donald Trump might defeat Hilary Clinton and become the next president of the United States. At least (and this is not much consolation to her) his Vice President is a woman.</p><p>“My name is Roxy,” the woman told the boy. “It’s very nice to meet you.”</p><p>“I’m Artemis,” he said, carefully pronouncing the syllables. “I just turned four years old, and I love to draw.”</p><p>“How sweet,” said Roxy, smiling down at him. “Can I see some of your drawings?”</p><p>Roxy Arland was seated on a stool at her white granite countertop, sipping a cup of coffee. Margot wasn’t drinking any, because it was night and she was hoping to get some rest soon. Apparently, Roxy was here on official government business: to protect the Legere girl from the Queen before she died and Alicia threw a fit.</p><p>Margot had to admit that she could not see what was so bad about Alicia Legere throwing a fit.</p><p>She and the Legere girl had already gotten into one skirmish, apparently. Roxy’s implement had been broken by one of the Queen’s assassins, and she’d bought another with similar functionality from Alan Muscovy. Only because she’d been desperate and because they had been right there, Roxy had assured her. She did not condone what Alan did with his pixies.</p><p>Her son came back into the room, bringing with him some paper and a box of crayons. He set down the crayons on the table and showed Roxy one of his drawings, which depicted him holding hands with Margot, both figures featuring vertical lines for hair and wall socket smiles. It was sunny, and they were standing on a green line, with a single bush in the background that bisected the outline of her body.</p><p>“I love it!” said Roxy. “Why isn’t it up on the fridge?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Artemis asked.</p><p>“Plastic front,” Margot explained. “Magnets don’t stick.”</p><p>“Aw, well that’s a shame. It’s so pretty. Is that your mommy?”</p><p>“Uh huh, and the small one is me. Would you like to draw with me?”</p><p>“Well I’m honored,” said Roxy, “but maybe another time. Your mommy and I are having a conversation for adults.”</p><p>“Why don’t you go get ready for bed?” she said. “Ms. Arland is leaving soon, and I’ll come to tuck you in.” Artemis nodded solemnly.</p><p>“So cute,” Roxy said, after he’d left the room. “Who’s his, uh…”</p><p>“Father?” she said. “I don’t know. I’ve never had much luck with relationships, but I got really into one night stands that holiday season. I’d just hit 40, and it was… well, you know.”</p><p>“We’re about the same age, then,” Roxy said, winking at her. “That whole thing about women getting uglier as they age?” She pointed at herself. “Clear counterexample.”</p><p>Margot sighed. “You look good. I wish I had your confidence.”</p><p>“Come on, you look great!” Roxy said. “You’ve got that matronly dominatrix vibe. I love it.”</p><p>“Thanks,” she said, blushing. “You’re not trying to…”</p><p>“Oh no, no, no,” Roxy said quickly. “No, I’m not interested in that sort of thing. With anybody, I mean.” She gulped down the remainder of her coffee and got to her feet. “It’s been nice meeting you, Margot.”</p><p>“You too,” she said, and they shook hands.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Spring 2020. President Donald Trump was assassinated by an antifascist activist in February, shocking the nation. Vice President Alison Halen was sworn in as President of the United States later that day. It remains unclear who she will face in the upcoming election, but she is unprecedentedly popular, riding the martyrdom of the newly deceased former president. It is doubtful that she will be defeated.</p><p>Artemis was sick all of the time. It started as a series of colds, but when he began to have recurring respiratory infections, it became clear to her that something more was going on. It was almost a relief, three infections in, when a doctor took her concerns seriously and did the blood tests necessary to make the diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia. Almost a relief, that is, before she learned more about her son’s condition.</p><p>The doctor was alarmed at how fast it had progressed, and recommended immediate hospitalization at a cancer treatment center. She saw the way her son began shaking as they broke the news to him that he was very sick and would have to be transferred to a different hospital, but he didn’t cry. He was trying to stay brave, she could tell.</p><p>Money was no object for Margot. She had lived in the Westbrook Exclusion Zone for years by now, and she’d figured out how to print money in a way which was totally untraceable by the authorities. Whatever treatment her son needed, she could provide without taking away funds from other children who needed it, maybe even more than her son.</p><p>For the first few weeks they were at the hospital, the chemotherapy seemed to help. It made him feel miserable, and he lost all of his hair, but his prognosis was positive, and he seemed to be in good spirits. They might even get to go home within the next couple of months.</p><p>And then, like a switch had been flipped, he got worse again. The chemotherapy became ineffective, and other drugs and treatments were tried. Stem cells, heavier doses of radiation. Artemis became weak and immunosuppressed. Her visits were limited to lower the possibility of infection. For weeks, it continued, and she started to doubt whether any of it was real.</p><p>Margot began to look into vivomancy, necromancy, any book about life magic she could get her hands on. Her visits to the house of Dr. Moonhaze became increasingly frequent. Nothing. There was nothing that worked. She would quietly attempt spells and rituals at his bedside when the doctors gave them some privacy. Some of them helped to put a splash of color into his cheeks, but they didn’t help otherwise, and they didn’t cure his cancer. She was sure it had metastasized already, all over his body. She began to have recurring nightmares about him exploding with tumors. She couldn’t shake the horror, just as her son couldn’t seem to shake the disease.</p><p>And then. And then. A beacon of hope, a final resort offered by the good Dr. Moonhaze, professor of quantum mechanics at the local community college. She could make her son her familiar, and grant him a second life. There was no rule, Moonhaze explained, against turning humans into familiars. He was even able to find an obscure ritual that allowed for such a thing.</p><p>And so she returned, notes in hand, to her son’s bedside, and performed the ritual as he slept. She woke him up briefly to have him read lines, to give consent, and she let him sleep again after. She finished up just as the nurse was returning.</p><p>“What was that you were reading?” the nurse asked.</p><p>“Just some stuff from an old book I found,” Margot said, sidestepping the question. There was a cough from the bed, and they both looked on in amazement as the brave little boy sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes.</p><p>“Are you feeling well today?” the nurse asked him.</p><p>“I’m feeling pretty good,” he told her. “Is it time for my checkup? I think I can walk.”</p><p>The doctors were astounded. The lead oncologist in charge of the Behaim’s case admitted to her that he hadn’t thought Artemis would make it out of that room alive, but that he was so glad it had happened. She could tell that it had moved him, and she cried in relief.</p><p>Three days later, they were discharged. Margot declined to share her son’s story with the press. Things were finally back to normal again, and Margot cried the rest of the day.</p><p>But something was different. She noticed it first one day when she was talking on the phone with Alister, nephew of the late Laird Behaim. They began by discussing Artemis’ condition, then moved on to the topic of the Legere situation. The Legeres and their cat had visited the other day to express their relief that Artemis was doing much better.</p><p>“That cat,” said Artemis, who had just entered the kitchen, “the one that Mister Sam and Miss Luna have?”</p><p>“Hang on,” said Margot, muting herself briefly. “What was that, Artemis?”</p><p>“The cat they have. He did some really bad things when he was a faerie.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” she asked her eight-year-old.</p><p>“He used to hunt humans for fun,” Artemis said. “I don’t know how I know it, but I know it when I look at him.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Margot said. “How do you know that exactly? Did somebody tell you?”</p><p>“No,” Artemis said. “It came from my mind. Just like I know that the mean lady who got rid of all the ghosts still has one as a friend. And that Alister has a ghost in his watch.”</p><p>The Zeitgeist. Artemis knew about the Zeitgeist. Very few people were privy to that information.</p><p>“I think it’s because I’m your… familiar now,” he explained. “I know a lot of things now. Some of them are not very good, and I don’t like that I know them.”</p><p>But the final nail in the coffin came a few months later, when Margot measured her son’s height, and discovered that it hadn’t changed at all. His hair and his nails had been growing, so she hadn’t noticed. Panic set in as she made the realization, but still she desperately hoped that he might hit a growth spurt. A couple of nervous months went by, and nothing. He hadn’t grown a millimeter.</p><p>Artemis might age, and he might change and get smarter as he aged, but he would forever have the body of an eight year old.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Fall 2021. President Alison Halen, who has always skewed more moderate, has just made a statement that Donald Trump’s border wall will continue to be built in honor of his legacy. This comes as what can only be taken as a direct response to historic civil rights protests across the country, following the murders of several unarmed black and brown individuals at the hands of the police. Outrage and chaos have ensued.</p><p>It happened without warning. Her attention had been drawn to the Hound, which was making a big show of lifting the theater mask whose strap disappeared into the sides of its grimy, charred humanoid skull.</p><p>“Look away!” Roy yelled, and Margot tore her eyes from the ghastly scene. She heard a deep, animalistic roar, followed by the screams of several faeries, and then she felt a searing hot pain in her leg that sent her to the ground. She shut her eyes as a duel ensued over her crumpled mass, the horrible pain turning to indescribable agony. On her side, she pulled in her leg and reached for the place where it hurt. She felt only air.</p><p>“Oh jesus!” someone yelled. She couldn’t tell who.</p><p>“Belial,” said Rose, in a loud, commanding voice. The sound of fighting stopped. “Now that I have your attention—”</p><p>Somewhere on the other side of the room, something was moving.</p><p>“Belial,” Rose barked. The air in the room seemed to drop in temperature, but perhaps that was just because the windows were broken and it was the afternoon. “No more. I am Rose Thorburn Junior. You know who I am, and you know that I have the power to summon and control the entity who bears the name. Belial.”</p><p>There was the slightest suggestion of a presence in the room now. That was enough. The faeries scattered.</p><p>“Margot!” said Alister, his voice very close to her ear. “Your leg…”</p><p>“Agonizing,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “Need healing immediately.”</p><p>“No, Margot,” he said. “It’s gone.”</p><p>“<em>What? </em> No it isn’t.”</p><p>“It’s gone. I’m sorry,” Rose said, her voice hard. “Pew, quickly. Get her a pew so she’s not on the floor.” There was a sound of something heavy being moved.</p><p>“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Margot hissed. She didn’t open her eyes.</p><p>“It’s <em> severed,” </em> Alister said, as she was lifted off the ground and onto the wood. She felt the pain begin to subside.</p><p>“So reattach it,” she said, her nails digging into her palms. </p><p>“It’s severed, Margot!” Alister said, exasperated. “Severed with a red-hot faerie blade. You should know what that means.”</p><p>Margot let it sit inside her for a few moments. A <em> funeral. </em> She was at a <em> funeral. </em></p><p>“Okay,” she said, finally, taking care to speak slowly so that her voice came out evenly. “A—a robotic leg, enhanced with magic. Is that… that doesn’t count as…”</p><p>“We can do that,” Rose assured her. “It’s not illegal, no.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said. “Can you… would you do me the favor of putting me under, then? I don’t want to think about it.”</p><p>“Yes,” Alister said, gently. “I—” He paused as he thought of what to say. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Margot opened her eyes just before she fell unconscious. The last thing she saw was the upper half of a broken stained glass window.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. 3.1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<h3>
  <span class="big">Preparations<span class="big"></span></span>
</h3><p>
  <span class="big"> <span class="big"><br/>
</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="big"> <span class="big"> <span class="big"><br/>
<strong><span class="big">3.1</span></strong></span><br/>
</span> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ezrul sat atop of the dashboard and gave me directions as I drove. We went about half of the way to Carthage, then turned off onto Route 3A towards the East. Deferiet, New York, yet another village that was part of the same town. Roxy lived here, Ezrul told me, as we briefly turned back onto Route 3 before exiting into a small, quaint suburb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway down the road, where it started to curve right, Ezrul instructed me to pull over and to use my Vision. I followed the line of his paw to a small path leading into the trees right at the start of the curve, a few meters back the way we had come. I switched off my Vision, and the path disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” I said. “That’s clever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used my Vision to check for any connection to Alan. Nothing, but then I’d only interacted with the man for about thirty seconds. I focused on Ezrul instead, but I saw no connection to anything in the area except for a faint connection in the correct general direction that I suspected indicated Roxy. I confirmed by checking my own connections again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t find a connection,” Ezrul said, in his smooth baritone. “Alan doesn’t have any.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we supposed to know where he is, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never suggested this would be easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sighed, and began considering abandoning the idea altogether, when I sensed a small cluster of connections at the edges of the sense, gradually multiplying in intensity. Luna and Sam were unmistakable. I guessed that the other two were Rose and Alister. If any of them happened to turn their Vision on… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does proximity to Alan hide connections?” I asked. “Or is it just him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just him,” Ezrul said, “but any space he constructs will disguise the signatures of those who enter. Are you asking because you’ve noticed Luna and Sam?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if we should go through with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s up to you,” said Ezrul, “but there’s only one way to avoid their notice. I’m sure they’ll wonder why we’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddammit,” I said, hand moving to my forehead to push at my hair. “I was right before. This is a terrible idea. Why did you talk me into this?” Ezrul said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I said, “alright, all we have to do is drive to Roxy’s house and meet up with everyone there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no reason you would do that,” Ezrul said. “They would see that I’m with you, and I would have told you that Roxy has a minimal demesne because of her proximity to Alan. No building traps or reading books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a way out then,” I growled, “instead of just shooting down my ideas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it really be so bad to admit that you had a dumb plan, and that you changed your mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I admitted. We sat in silence as the connections drew closer. “What if we did just… duck in, grab the vessel, and get out? Really quickly, before Alan even has a chance to react. You said you’d be willing to help… can you make that happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have certain privileges as a familiar,” he said. “I will most likely be able to locate the vessel once inside the space.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does that work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really asking me, or are you just stalling?” Ezrul asked, pointedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Fair enough.” I turned off the car. “What do we do if Alan catches us? You said he was kind of incompetent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unaware of his potential,” he clarified. “He’ll know if we enter. All I can say is, let’s hope that he doesn’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I went to open the door, then froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on. Do you think there’s a chance this could be the eight of swords thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Ezrul said, thoughtfully. I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess this is kind of how terminally ill people feel, like how they’ll go skydiving or whatever. If they’re going to die anyway, or if their margin for survival is so slim, they may as well be reckless with what they’ve got left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And in any case, I have you to watch my back. Luna will be pissed if you let me die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, I pushed open the car door and let Ezrul follow me out before slamming it shut and adjusting my jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose she would,” Ezrul said, coolly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We walked to where the path began and pushed through the short line of trees into a clearing. The lighting changed as we walked in, darkening until the cloudy noontime sky was a deep evening purple. A shallow but fairly wide stream separated us from a warm gingerbread wood cottage with red-and-white striped trim and golden light pouring out from the windows. There were three charmingly misaligned round stones in the stream that allowed for dry passage across the water, as well as a rather redundant bridge that lay along the path, which curved off too far to the right. The bridge crossed the stream in a tall arc and consisted of several planks in the same wood that the house was made of, the abnormally smooth, vaguely porous material that looked like gingerbread. The planks were placed across a collection of stones that formed the base of the arc, no hint of any adhesive between them. There was a distinct scent of something like nutmeg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sign hung from the cottage, declaring in a nauseating cursive that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alan Muscovy’s Pixie Emporium</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then in a smaller font size: </span>
  <em>
    <span>And Odds ‘n’ Ends</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like being in a tableau, some three-dimensional facsimile of a Thomas Kinkade. A pleasant autumn breeze gusted a browning maple leaf down from a tree, and I observed that the trees were further along in their process of changing colors than they should have been, though no leaves were on the ground. The wind carried the leaf into the stream, and it drifted idly under the bridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do Alan’s powers work?” I asked, as I watched the leaf come out the other side and disappear into the trees. “Is this place real?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t say,” said Ezrul, sounding odd. I looked down at him and saw that his usual easy attitude had been replaced by something more distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snapped out of it and looked up at me. I got the sense that he was a little offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pixies,” he said. “Their influence is obvious. This is what these woods would have looked like, before human industry and… everything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stepped across the rocks, the gentle rush of the stream unsettling as we crossed. Unsettling because, I realized, forests ordinarily had more noise. Leaves blowing in the wind. The occasional bird call, the knocking of a woodpecker. Instead, the trees were almost perfectly still, the wind jostling them slightly but not enough to produce sound. And there were two sparrows that flew down onto the roof from a nearby tree, but they were totally silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I put my hand on the doorknob, which was shaped like a circular faucet handle and painted to look like a gumdrop. I hesitated, and turned to the cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t enter someone’s demesne without their consent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not true,” Ezrul said. “We are already in his demesne. The building is a formality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I thought—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The owner of a demesne can choose to make it selectively accessible during the ritual. When others come to challenge the claim, it can be a way of assuaging their concerns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Challenge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whenever someone begins a demesne ritual, everyone in the surrounding area is notified and they can contest that party’s claim to the area. It’s a three day process. Regardless, we’re good to enter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you sense the vessel inside?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I’ll lead the way if you open the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. I turned the knob and pulled open the door, entering into a much larger space than was suggested by the scale of the exterior. The shift in atmosphere as we entered was instantaneous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a disaster. A disorganized display of opulence that mainly included exotic or otherwise unusual handmade objects, with at least one representative from every major world culture I could think of. That was reassuring. It meant that Alan might be in an entirely different country, gathering items for his collection. I wondered if they were all magical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was shadowy and it was dingy, and it smelled like a woodworking shop. There were dim light bulbs that flickered overhead, which offered just enough light to see but not nearly enough to make out all of the items in the shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The back left corner held a collection of life-sized puppets, which dangled from a sliding rack of meat hooks. There were dolls on the shelves behind them, including an intricately detailed Matryoshka set that had at least twenty pieces, the largest sitting at a solid two feet tall. The rest of the dolls were in various states of decay, and several of them seemed to be staring at me. I looked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner by the window featured several meticulously assembled dioramas of fantastical places that were placed on small stilts and were organized on three shelves which were angled so that dioramas at various heights corresponded roughly to the level of lighting they required. The ones on top were hard to make out from this angle, and the ones on the bottom were too dimly lit. There was one in the middle that caught my eye, though, a scene of a gingerbread cottage in autumn, almost identical to the exterior of the Emporium.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A third corner, the one immediately to our right, was full of instruments. Notably, there were two theremins as well as a balalaika fit for a giant, its body neon orange like a dorito. Some of the instruments were entirely unfamiliar to me, like a piano-harp hybrid and something that looked like a bird feeder, except that it had strings of different lengths cascading down its sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a cashier’s desk with a flap in the back and a register on the counter that was positioned squarely in the center of the room, but there were so many stuffed animals sitting in fishing nets overhead that it had an amusement park vibe. It was the kind of desk that would ordinarily have held jewelry in the glass cases around its edge. Instead, the cases held a variety of semi-corporeal objects which phased in and out of existence as I shifted my gaze. They were backlit, which made them the brightest things in the room. It was difficult to look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are those?” I asked Ezrul out of the corner of my mouth, pointing at the cases. There was no real reason I needed to be quiet. No obvious danger in the room, and Alan most certainly already knew we were here, but something about the stillness put me on guard. Or maybe it was just the old dolls and the puppets hanging from meat hooks. Quintessentially creepy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezrul was not as concerned about his volume. “They are called Artifacts,” he said, jumping a little as he said the word. He looked spooked, his back arched and his tail stiff and vertical. “Artifacts with a capital A. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice them. You’ll read a lot about them if you spend any time with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span> esoteric literature. Humans have literally been driven to insanity trying to pin down their true nature. The more you understand about them, the deeper your break with reality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing else I had come across or learned about so far had left me anywhere close to the state of shock this new revelation put me in. Considerations of the room’s atmosphere fell out of my head entirely, and I approached the nearest case, mind churning over Ezrul’s words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I focused my attention on one of the objects, a pinkish tetrahedron. It was hard to look at directly, and it kept disappearing when I did, so I turned on my Vision to see if that helped. Not exactly. Instead, looking at the Artifact sent a kaleidoscope of fractals directly into my brain. Not something I saw with my eyes, nor a hallucination, but something akin to a daydream. The sort of thing you saw in your mind’s eye when reading a book. The intensity of it sent me staggering back, and I sharply shut down my Vision. “Purple” was the overwhelming sense I got: that borderline ultraviolet Van Gogh I’d seen in the trees and sky. Hard to believe that was yesterday morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Faeries have a different limitation, if you can call it that,” he went on, as if nothing had happened. “There have, in fact, been faerie scientists, and some of them have even studied Artifacts systematically. But the more they learn, the less they are inclined to study them, and the less they speak on the subject. Early Spring faeries, all much younger than me. I think we all know, on some instinctual level, what the Artifacts represent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a principle in science, something that often went unstated because it was so obvious, that everything in the universe could be quantified somehow, that everything about how the world worked was knowable. Probabilistic maybe, on the quantum level, but still determinable on a meta level. All of that common sense, with the associated thousands of years of experimental confirmation, flew out the window here. Here was a collection of real-life memetic hazards, with safeguards that prevented their own observation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do? What’s that?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure it would be a good idea to tell you. We should probably move on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” I said, more than a little disappointed. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to know a little bit, in light of my prognosis. It felt almost blasphemous to move on from something as monumental as that. I vowed to myself that I would awaken a big name physicist if I ever got the chance, because this was something that needed serious scientific attention. There had to be a way to feel around the edges of it, conceptually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again… I was put in the mind of some web fiction I’d read, where a character had had this very same thought about studying magic scientifically. Maybe there really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a magical equivalent to CERN out there. Or NASA, or whatever. It would make sense, if the practitioner infrastructure was advanced enough that there was a government with its own president. There might be some organization that could perform legal, controlled technomancy experiments with government oversight. They could be studying Artifacts right now, for all I knew. For all Ezrul knew either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That also made me think. The phrase “memetic hazard” had come to me from the popular ‘SCP’ internet phenomenon. There might be a real life organization that acted in the same capacity, collecting and preserving Artifacts and other magical oddities. All fiction was based on reality somehow, so what if all works of fiction were entirely possible in the infinite probability space of the hypothetical multiverse? Starting all the way back at the Big Bang, and playing things forward randomly, which pieces of fiction were within the realm of possibility and which weren’t? Was it even possible to write fiction which couldn’t conceivably happen?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt my head to overlay the real world with the fictional, to so essentially interrogate the word “fiction” itself. Worse than that, the divide between the ontological and epistemological had never been less clearly defined, a serious blow to science. The absurdity of the whole line of thinking made me wonder if my exposure to the Artifact was messing with me, which, I realized with dawning horror, could imply that all of the stuff that was happening to me was due to an Artifact overexposure. Maybe Luna and Sam had—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Absolutely not. All of that presupposed the existence of Artifacts, which meant that it was real. Unless I was having a totally unrelated psychotic break, but that possibility looked increasingly ridiculous the more time that passed. There was a rhyme and a reason to the way magic worked, and I was going to do my best to uncover it. Or read about it, since it most likely had already been uncovered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep in thought, I’d allowed myself to move on autopilot as Ezrul and I carefully picked our way through the shelves and things to the back of the shop, which was relatively empty. There was a staircase that led up, and a door underneath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Upstairs,” Ezrul said. “It’s up there somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did Alan even want with it?” I asked. “Doesn’t seem like he needs it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whims of the powerful are not mine to guess at,” he said, “but if I were forced to conjecture, I would say that it’s probably just another trinket for his collection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We headed up into a short hallway that wrapped around the other side of the banister, and Ezrul led me through the last of three doors on the right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We found ourselves in a bathroom, again of an incommensurate scale. The ceiling was maybe twenty feet high, with a small domed skylight in its center. The wall to our right was a good deal longer than it should have been, given the fact that there were meant to be doors on the other side.</span>
</p><p><span>The architecture was Greco-Roman, with six elaborately carved Corinthian columns surrounding a central basin. Four marble fish suspended from the ceiling around the skylight poured water down into the basin. There was no apparent source for it, since the fish weren’t connected to anything, and though there was no sign of a drain in the basin, the water level did not change. The basin was hemispherical and made of porcelain, a stark contrast to the hexagonal tiling of the floor around it, which were in a teal-and-white art nouveau decorative style. Just past the columns, the tiles hit a circular edge, beyond which were regular white square tiles, each just slightly raised away from the narrow concrete lattice that ran between them. Light streamed into the room from the skylight, but the room had an austere, somber character.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Over there,” said Ezrul, padding over to the far corner of the room, where there were some multicolored lockers surrounding a pair of benches. A small changing area. One of his paws landed in a small puddle of water, and it squeaked against the tiles as he walked. “It’s in one of these.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Which one?” I asked, surveying the lockers. They were all identical except for the variation in color.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think the interiors are all connected somehow. Some kind of pocket dimension, if you subscribe to that terminology.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pressed up on the latch underneath the handle of the nearest locker and pulled. The door didn’t budge. I moved to the next one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pulled harder on this door, trying to force it open. The middle bulged out a little where I pulled, which told me that something inside was holding it closed. I tried the next one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’ll work,” Ezrul said, and I could hear the frown in his voice. “Something about the way this is set up feels contrived. I feel like—nevermind. I don’t want to say it, because… well… I’ll tell you later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped midway through my attempt at the fourth locker of twelve and looked at him curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing to bite,” he said. “You’re welcome to try and arrive at a conclusion for yourself, but I will not speak on the matter.” He saw the look I gave him and gestured at the locker I’d abandoned. “Keep trying. I promise I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell you later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I continued working through the lockers, trying to puzzle out what Ezrul could mean. Was there something magical going on that I wasn’t aware of? I switched my Vision on, but it seemed to have little effect here. Most of the lockers were colored in pastels, and my Vision made them marginally more saturated, but otherwise my surroundings didn’t change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What now?” I asked, once I’d tried every locker. “They’re locked from the inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” said Ezrul, distracted. He was over by the basin, intently gazing up at the fish statuettes that acted as the mouth of the fountain. “Maybe there’s a magnet somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe…” I said, eyeing a different corner of the room, where there were a number of shelves littered with odds and ends. Mostly cleaning and bathing products. There was a large inflatable raft colored like a rubber duck that leaned against the wall at an angle between the lockers and the shelves. “Or maybe we should just give up. It’s more trouble than it’s worth, and I bet Luna’s already—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ezrul said, his tone uncharacteristically authoritative. “We are this far already. Why should we give up now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sunk cost fallacy,” I pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes, I have read about that,” he said. “Not totally applicable when certain outcomes are preordained.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I frowned. “Sure, I can believe that. Maybe. But what does that have to do with us, here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezrul had moved over to the shelves by now. He hopped up onto the lowest one and padded across, sniffing some of the items as he went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For someone who is concerned with avoiding the sunk cost fallacy, you have certainly been devoting a lot of your time to asking impertinent questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” he added, stopping on the second shelf up. “Come and see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A very annoying answer. I stopped myself from responding with another question and instead obliged him, stepping around the pool float to look at what he wanted to show me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at this,” he said, one paw pointed at the wall. I moved a hotel-size shampoo bottle aside and saw a keyhole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the key?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No idea,” Ezrul said, “but there’s a faint connection between the keyhole and the lockers. We find the key, we gain access to Alan’s vault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who says it’s not on his person?” I asked. “I think we should leave. Maybe we can grab something else on the way out. Nothing special about the vessel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light splash of water hit one of my pant legs, and I spun on my heels, assuming a defensive posture. The fountain’s water pressure had increased, as if in response to my declaration, and my mind immediately flashed to thoughts of the archetype of the rising water trap. My eyes immediately crossed the door in a panic, but it was still open. The basin accommodated the augmented flow of water with no change in water level, only now the increased force with which the water was hitting the pool in the basin caused some droplets to splash out onto the surrounding tiles. Another splash came just short of me, wetting the floor at my feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again,” said Ezrul, slowly and pointedly. “I think we should stay and look for the vessel. Now do you understand what I was trying to say before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded mutely, finally getting it. Not only did Alan know we were here, he was watching us. Maybe his power gave him the ability to see into the future, as was the case with the Queen, and he had taken the vessel for this very reason. He seemed to have been ready for us, his shop set up for visitors. We were his entertainment now, and he wouldn’t let us leave until we retrieved what we’d come here for, or died in the process. Well, maybe death was a bit of a leap, but Alan’s engagement in trafficking didn’t give me a lot of faith in our safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then something else came to me, a thought that had already been nagging at me for a while, but which I had been ignoring. We shouldn’t have come here in the first place, and no doubt Ezrul had known that all along. There had to be a reason he’d encouraged me to come, and I was seriously beginning to doubt it was a good one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which made me doubt that it was Ezrul at all. I looked at him closely, trying to perceive him as something else. If I could just break the glamour like I had at the hotel— No. Even with my Vision on, it was clearly the same cat. My connection to him was familiar, reassuring. Unless this was someone really powerful, like Alan himself somehow (which didn’t make any sense), there was no denying his identity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezrul cocked his head at me and my heart rate increased. Whatever else, he was highly intelligent. I really hoped he couldn’t tell that I was suspicious of him. I raised my eyebrows in feigned realization, as if I’d just come to understand Alan’s plan, and I opened my mouth to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go look for that key.”</span>
</p>
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